EXCURSION GAMMA volume one
by Jgold7
Summary: REVAMPED 7.1.09! Project Pathfinder: determined to bring Voyager home, a fleet is dispatched under diplomatic premises. Sabotage, conspiracy, & catastrophe ironically give an unlikely crew an unclear purpose in the wrong quadrant. All original cast.
1. Prelude

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

**_EXCURSION GAMMA_**

_volume one_

Prelude

**_Personal Log: Supplemental_**

**_*encrypted*_**

_Four days…no word. I'm getting restless._

_Shaleus Drift proved to be as fruitless as I'd expected, but we're close. Not as close as my superiors would like, but closer than we've ever been. _

_I like a little distance. Gives me a better view. _

_And it'll make him arrogant, which will make him careless. That's my only hope for making the catch while playing by these absurd rules. For now, I'll bide my time._

_All this cloak and dagger fodder is as foolish as it is obnoxious and not worth the effort! If we continue to dawdle in the shadows, an all out man hunt will be unavoidable anyway and the blood shed will be worse! I've seen it all before…_

_It's not something I want to relive ever again; I don't even like remembering it. _

_I can't understand why they don't see the severity of these threats. I'd like to believe my superiors are right and if it all goes bad like I'm all too sure it's going to, I'll wish they were. And they'll wish they'd listened. The gross ignorance and underestimation of the circumstances are disgusting, but…I have my orders. _

_If I only had the go ahead, I could take care of this. I could have many times. _

_Nipped it in the bud, as they say. _

_If they'd only listened in the first place we wouldn't be having this problem…It…It is what it is. I keep reminding myself to not get distracted by how poorly things have been handled thus far._

_I've just got some intelligence that would blow this wide open, but…my hands are tied. _

_While we play checkers, he's cheating at chess. _

_

* * *

_

The home was a lovely as she remembered, though it had lost a little of the warmth and cheeriness that was so characteristic. It was to be expected. Loss does something that is hard to mask, leaves something even harder to ignore. Spacious and hospitable with everything perfectly in its place, the colors bright and textures soft, everything seemed to whisper family. It had been as foreign to her as a first contact with a new species. More familiar to her now, it was still a touch uncomfortable.

Mr. Kim stood staring out the window that overlooked the bay. It was a chilly, overcast autumn morning in San Francisco. Pale overcast sunlight flooded over the ageing man, speaking of his gloom. She could not help but feel a tinge of sadness as she watched him silently from the big armchair.

The silence was shattered as Mrs. Kim bustled into the sitting room wearing her ever present grin and balancing a tea tray. At the distraction, Mr. Kim was interrupted from his reverie and a smile spread across his lips. The despair was momentarily chased away as the familiar cheer took its place.

"A'læ," Mrs. Kim gushed as she delivered a cup of tea and then nestled into the loveseat next to her husband, "we're so glad you've come. It's been too long. You need to visit more often."

"It is nice to see you both again as well," A'læ replied politely. She let the warmth of the cup spread into her hands before drinking it.

"I'm sure that she's much too busy to come see old people like us," Mr. Kim suggested merrily. "She's a Lieutenant now, sweetheart, you see. Now, what brings you by, dear?"

"She doesn't need a reason to come see us! You're welcome anytime. You should stay for dinner. Or maybe for the weekend. Get some rest."

"Thank you," A'læ said, "But I can only stay for a few minutes-"

"See, I told you." Mr. Kim whispered to his wife.

"I wanted to stop by before I started my next assignment. I'll be boarding the _Nagayatzu _this afternoon and ferried to Deep Space Nine. I'll be gone – deep space – for a few months. I know it's been difficult for you since Harry went missing –"

"We never gave up hope," Mrs. Kim stated simply. "And now, he'll be home one day."

"I appreciate all the kindness you have shown me in the past few years…I'm…I'm not supposed to be telling you this," A'læ paused as she saw their eyes twinkle with hope and concern, "You mustn't tell anyone...They're mounting a rescue mission."

Looks of joy and relief washed over the couple. Hope swelled: their once-thought-dead-son, and now their marooned-so-far-away-he-may-as-well-be-dead-son, might truly be coming home. Exchanging grins, the elderly couple embraced one another tightly.

"That is all I can tell you and you must keep it secret, but I thought you should know." They both stood and pulled A'læ from her chair to wrap her in an unyielding hug; Mrs. Kim placed her hands on A'læ's cheeks and sweetly smiled gratitude to her as tears rolled.

"Harry would be lucky to have a girl as beautiful and as kind as you," she said finally.

After some minutes, A'læ bid them farewell and excused herself saying she would be late. She then hastened to make her way back to headquarters. She had taken far more time than originally intended and feared the _Nagayatzu _would not wait. Rushing to her office, where her things were waiting, she need only finish up a task or two before the scheduled rendezvous.

Once inside, A'læ found her computer screen flashing. She desperately wanted to ignore any new messages, but, sure of the sender's identity, thought better. Confirming her presumptions, she saw it was from exactly who she had dreaded. With seven minutes to spare, she finished her tasks and called for someone to take her belongings to the transporter room.

Taking a deep breath, A'læ sat at the desk. The screen offered a dim reflection and she casually coiffed her raven locks, which were piled high on her head, before playing the message.

"Lieutenant, your assistance of late has been most valuable. Your services will not be forgotten, nor go unpaid. We have received word to proceed; phase three is underway. When you arrive at Deep Space Nine you will receive further instructions. We only have a few days. Be wary, be cautious."

The screen went dark again and A'læ let out a large sigh as she deleted the message. She gathered her composure and then moved swiftly to the transporter room.


	2. I: Reunions 1

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

I: Reunions

ONE

Alexander slept heavily in his temporary quarters. It was pitch dark, save the ambient glow that illuminated the bed's headboard. He hated sleeping with any lights on, but he had arrived late the night before and could not figure out how to disable the large fixture. Exhausted, he buried his face in his pillow, and so there he slept.

A loud claxon invaded the silence. "**6 Hundred 45 Hours**," the monotone female voice of the computer reported, "**Repeat: 6 Hundred 45 Hours**."

The lights in the room rose to 35 percent of normal illumination. Alexander let out a groan as he was roused from his slumber. Trying to block out the light and the reality of morning, he pressed a pillow tightly over the back of his head. He stretched his stiff limbs out as far as he could, his feet reaching well past the edge of the bed.

Raising up on his elbows - his head hung between his shoulders - and then fully extending up onto his hands, Alexander attempted to muster the will power to get out of bed and into the sonic shower. Suddenly he stiffened, jerking his head left to look at the chronometer.

It read, "06:46."

Eyes wide, he snapped fully awake and jerked up. Alexander's precarious position did not comply with this movement, causing him to lose his balance and tumble end over end to the floor with all his bedding. Tangled in his sheets and blankets, he managed to croak from his hoarse throat, "Computer what's the time?"

"**The Current Time is 6 Hundred 47 Hours.**"

"What?!" he exclaimed, still struggling for freedom from the bedclothes. "I'm gonna be late!"

"**The Current Time is 6 Hundred 47 Hours**," the computer repeated in response to his exclamation. Alexander growled in frustration at the computer as he scrambled off the floor, out of the blankets, into the adjacent room, and into the sonic shower.

"Computer, _when_ did I want up?" he demanded, followed by, "Activate sonic shower."

There was a corresponding beep, and the familiar hum of the sonic waves' resonation began "washing the evil off of him" – as Alexander had once heard it phrased – followed by a steady flow of steam. He breathed exhaled with relief at the welcome sensation.

"**Unable to process, please rephrase inquiry**."

"What _time_ did I request to be awakened?"

"**6 Hundred 45 Hours.**"

_That impossible woman_, he thought to himself. A name he reserved strictly for the insufferable voice-interface of the Federation wide interlinked computer system.

Alexander thought that he had requested a 'wake-up call' for 06:00 hours. In fact, he was sure of it. He was scheduled to meet with Admiral Ranitz at 07:30. He was positive he would be late. Admiral Ranitz did not permit tardiness. Usually very punctual, Alexander would have given himself at least an hour to get ready. There was a little place in the promenade where he had wanted to have breakfast before his meeting.

_No time for that now._

"I'm gonna get myself reassigned to a Klingon Garbage-freighter if I'm not on time." He mumbled, grouping for a towel hanging outside the shower.

* * *

Smoothing her dress uniform, she studied herself in the mirror. It had been awhile since she had worn a Starfleet uniform. The fit was snug, too snug for her taste. She preferred the light and airy clothes she was accustomed to wearing on her home world, Betazed. The green striping the cuffs and peaking from beneath the jacket, indicating her area of expertise, was not her taste either.

_It does nothing for my complexion,_ she thought.

The rest of the uniform, which was mostly white, quite complimented her fair appearance. Her pale skin, brilliant black eyes, and astonishingly blonde curls went well with the starch white uniform. Most Betazoids were more attractive than the average humanoid; with her features and form fitting uniform, she would definitely not be blending in today.

This young, beautiful Betazoid was a representative of the Federation Council and an ambassador for Starfleet. Today was hopefully the beginning of a very important, and prestigious, mission. The assignment was top secret, and should go to an older, more experienced, more credentialed individual, but not if she had anything to say about it.

With pursed lips and a furrowed brow, she continued turning side to side, examining her angles. Tugging at her jacket, she zipped it to exactly 5.5 cm from her collar bone, per regulations. She smoothed it and turned for a profile view. Although it was tailored to fit her slim but full form exactly as it should, she would prefer a size larger. She shook her head with disgust and exhaled noisily.

"_All _white," she complained, "I mean, seriously, who does that?"

Rolling her eyes and turning to the side table to find her hair pin, she thought to herself, _At least the standard issue uniforms are black. Everyone knows black is slimming._

"I think you look beautiful, Miria."

She had not even sensed him come into the room. That was odd for her, as she was usually quite perceptive of others' presences and thoughts, even for a Betazoid. She had to pay better attention in the future. Such surprises were usually unwelcome.

Not this one, however. He had slipped his large, strong arms around her waist, joining her at gazing at her form in the mirror. She turned in his embrace and gave him a kiss.

[_That's why I love you_,] Miria said telepathically, and then thought to herself, _and that you can almost read my mind even though _you_ aren't a telepath._

His dark features were a stark contrast to her fair ones. She nearly melted under the gaze of his chocolate eyes. She smiled up at him and then turned back to the mirror. He pulled her curls back for her as she reached for the hair pin. With precise, quick, and complicated movements, Miria had tugged her mass of hair up into a smart bouffant, completely concealing the large pin that kept the whole coiffure in place.

Her fiancé chuckled. "You're always so…perfect."

"I try," she replied with a chuckle of her own, and then added, "thanks; you're not so bad yourself … [_for a human_]."

He laughed and plopped down on her bed. "You ready yet?"

"Almost," she said, checking her appearance again. With her hair off her shoulders, Miria could now see she was missing a very vital piece of her uniform. Her hand flew to her neck. "My rank pips!"

She searched the table and her desk. "Have you seen them?" When there was no reply, she jerked her head casting a scolding gaze; she softened when seeing his outstretched hand playfully cradling the small round decorations. Miria breathed a sigh of relief, "Help me?"

He nodded and carefully pinned each pip in place on her right collar. Checking the mirror, she nodded her approval. Miria picked up a set of padds she had placed by the door and kissed her fiancé goodbye.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Miria said. She removed her engagement ring and threaded it around the chain on her neck, which she then slipped beneath her collar.

"Sorry. Protocol."

He shrugged and kissed her again. Confidently, she strolled toward the door. Miria turned around and exhaled nervously. "Wish me luck."

"Good, luck…and knock 'em dead."

"I'll see you tonight at dinner. Have a great day, DaKen."

* * *

Within in minutes Alexander was dressed, groomed, and packed. All he needed was his commbadge and the padd with his orders including the location of the meeting with Admiral Ranitz. He had gotten himself ready in less than eight minutes – a new personal record – however, the chronometer now read 07:15. Alexander had wasted ten minutes searching for his misplaced things.

He was becoming slightly frantic, his mind turbulent with all the possibilities of what being late today of all days could mean. Tossing the tangled sheets aside, he spied the corner of his missing padd peaking from beneath the edge of his bed. Alexander grabbed it and raised it triumphantly.

_Now, my comm badge…_he thought. Suddenly, inspiration graced him.

"Computer," he said, "what is the location of Alexander Erikssen?"

"**Lieutenant Commander Alexander Erikssen is in his quarters.**"

Alexander rolled his eyes and absently blew a stray lock of hair out of his face and tried again. "Can you be more precise?" he asked hopefully, knowing the computer searched for commbadge signals when locating personnel not bio-spectral frequencies of actual individuals.

"**The temporary quarters of Lt. Commander Erikssen are in the guest sector of the Habitation Ring, Section 2, Chamber 357; Lt. Commander Erikssen…**"Alexander was getting frustrated thinking the computer was repeating itself, but the description was not finished, "**…is in his quarters; compartment 2.**"

He practically lunged through the door, almost tripping over the towel he had forgotten to properly store. "Computer, I take back every bad thing I've ever said about you."

"**Unable to process**."

Arms raised, ready to pounce, Alexander began slowly circling, eyeing every nook and cranny of the sterile bathroom. Behind the faucet of the sink, sat the little device shaped in the form of Starfleet's insignia. He grabbed it, kissed it, and slapped it on his left breast as he let out a sigh of relief. Slinging his pack over his shoulder, briefcase in hand, he was out the door.

Before it had shut, Alexander was back inside his quarters. His padd was on the table, right where he had left it. Shaking his head in disbelief, he retrieved it. Stopping in front of the floor-length mirror, he adjusted his uniform and smoothed his longish blond hair into exact place. He smiled approvingly. Alexander hurried back out the door; it closed behind him with a _hiss_.

* * *

Kaleb sat at the bar of _Quark's _with a drink in hand. The Ferengi owner had already tried thrice to sell him some over-priced, low-quality knock-off of a not-so-rare something or other, and Kaleb had told him so. His big mouth had gotten him in trouble again, now he was on his seventh drink. Out for a morning stroll, he had only the most innocent of intensions: to try one of the delectable smoothies he heard so much about. Instead, he found himself skipping drunk and careening right into hang-over.

_Whatever happened to synthehol?_ Kaleb wondered, unsure if he had ever been so drunk. "I shoulda just bought that piece of…" he mumbled, cradling his head in hand.

"Another drink, lieutenant?" The owner had returned.

Kaleb held up a hand, a look of incredulous revulsion barely concealed on his sickly-green tinged face, "Seven's my limit."

"Oh I see," the Ferengi said with exaggerated remorse, "that is unfortunate, friend, because I was reconsidering filing that formal complaint with Starfleet. Are you sure you don't want another?"

"Listen, _friend_," Kaleb began, pausing to down the last few sips. Tact was really not his strong suit. What filter he did have was rather impaired after seven mugs of Xan'uk. Strangely, it tasted of cheap wine, a bad batch of moonshine, and Romulan Ale, all mixed with a type of tequila he had once made the mistake of nipping from his Klingon stepfather.

He was about to really tell off the Ferengi, when some commotion caught their attention. Across the bar, a crowd was forming. In the middle, were two figures. One, a large male, appeared to be a member of a species Kaleb had never seen before, his hair so thick it fell in shags and dreads across his exposed skin. The other was an equally large man, impeccably dressed and with dark features

A few drinks and a couple of bottles crashed to the floor; their shatters sent the scantily clad dabo girls shrieking and the establishments' proprietor rushing to the ruckus - and out of Kaleb's hair. He quickly excused himself from the bar and was hurrying away when someone called for security. Kaleb groaned; that was him.

He half-considered ignoring the call, and could of justified it to any questioning superiors, given his intoxicated state, but a chirp from his commbadge and a request from the Security Chief ended that train of thought abruptly. Glancing down at the yellow stripping his uniform, Kaleb shook his head in disgust.

_I shoulda been a pilot._

Turning, he ran head first into the mass of bodies: everything from there on was a blur.


	3. I: Reunions 2

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

I: Reunions

TWO

Miria stood silently with her two competitors before a board of five high-ranking officers. Three were Admirals and two were Captains. Also present, was the Federation Council member from Andoria and her two aides. The panel had been silent for just shy of fifteen minutes. Though her fellow applicants were well-clothed, Miria felt a bit out of sorts in her dress uniform. The other Starfleet officers were wearing their usual black and grays.

To her left was a composed female, a Vulcan, cold and calm as always. She was the official Ambassador to Romulus and member of the Vulcan High Council. The man to her right was rumored to be a personal friend of the President. She wasn't impressed with either of them. He was extremely nervous, sweat running down his brow. Miria could sense the anxiety pouring from him; he was becoming nauseous.

[_Everything will be fine_,] she told him, [_there's nothing to worry about. You'll see._]

He flinched, barely maintaining his composure. His anxiety suddenly swelled.

Carefully, she attempted to read his mind without invading his privacy. Miria could tell that he was upset over something, but was unsure about what. She was sure he could not be so distressed over the impeding decision. It appeared that her telepathic communication had only made things worse. Digging a little deeper, she listened to his most prevalent thoughts.

…_telepath, didn't know she was a telepath! thought she was human… must be Betazoid! ...can't compete with a Betazoid…hardly qualified…_

Miria scolded herself, _Remarkable. You attempt to comfort him and now he's manic. _

She considered informing the board of his state, but before she had the chance, Miria noticed his complexion pale and turn a sickly shade of green. As he doubled over, her first instinct was to rush to his aide, but thought better of it and stepped back. Hand over his mouth, stumbling, the man spun quickly away from her as if he were heading towards the exit.

He was too late. The man dropped to his knees and vomited.

Miria tasted bile as she resisted the near involuntary urge to follow suite. The unfortunate Vulcan Ambassador was not swift enough and stood in pure shock, glaring at the mess on her shoes and robes. The panel jumped up in surprise.

"Admiral Grakken to Sickbay: medical emergency in Executive Review."

"Acknowledged, there's a team on its way."

* * *

The room was unusually, if not suspiciously dark. Illuminated only by what flooded in from the corridor, a stout figure was poised behind a simple desk.

"Enter." The voice was flat and brusque.

Taking a tentative step into the office, the door abruptly shut out the light, the outside world, and her last chance to decline. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she progressed into the chamber. It was simple with an overstated sterility. The internal flight-or-fight response was teeming so that it was hard to ignore

"Take a seat."

Resisting the urge to scamper, but warily eyeing the surroundings and door, she complied.

The faceless voice had broad shoulders and an intimidating presence, but was uniformed which proffered slight peace of mind. Metal scraping metal, a single padd was flicked across the desk. Startled, she scarcely caught it and was now awkwardly cradling it.

"That'll be all."

"Wait-I don't…how d-do you know why I'm here?"

"You're here aren't you?"

"Well, yes. But I don't see how that –"

"That'll be all," his tone was more forceful this time.

"Wh-I- " she flustered, "but you don't even know my name. I'm –"

"Nightingale," he stated harshly. "That's what I'm supposed to call you. The less I know about you the better. You have what you came for. We're done here."

"And what am I supposed to call you? Do I even get that much?"

"Fair enough," he paused, "Torrence. Now, that'll be all. Don't make me say it again."

A light flickered on his desktop. Absently, he glanced over and nondescriptly flicked his hand across it causing the blinking to cease.

"Looks like you're already late," he informed her, one-sided mirth coloring his words.

Puzzled, her face scrunched as her heart rate involuntarily increased; approaching frantic, the fear of failure crept in with dark icy claws.

"Medical emergency in Executive Review," his tone was ever pretentious, feeding bits of information like a cruel mother bird to her starving chicks, yet there was a hint of hilarity as if he enjoyed the lack of humor in it all. "There's a medkit just down the hall. After that, make yourself useful in one of the sickbays: there's already been an incident."

She nodded fiercely and controlled her breathing, rushing away, as far as she could get from the despicably controlling man and to anything that would distract her mind from what she had just agreed to.

* * *

With a comforting arm wrapped around the man's shoulder, Miria was impressed that she too had not regurgitated. Normally, under such circumstances, she would have become sick the moment he had. Somehow, she managed to refrain, though not without a few scares. Her Vulcan competitor, disgusted, had retired to her quarters to bathe. Miria, on the other hand, would not leave the chamber for any reason. She would wade through a pool of vomit to win, if that is what it took. Though, she sincerely hoped that it never came to such a thing and gagged at the thought.

The others – her superiors, her judges – milled about the room anxiously. Obviously, they felt compelled to stay, though in truth, had more important places to be, and, not heartlessly, were not overly concerned about the ill man. It was a conundrum of leadership and responsibility.

She breathed a soft sigh of relief when the _whoosh_ of the doors signaled the arrival of medical aide. A lithe young woman wearing a green-marked uniform with medkit in hand knelt opposite of Miria. Her short fair hair was pulled back into a high bun; she was nervous, almost jumpy.

"I can take it from here," she said softly, "Thank you."

Nodding, Miria rose and backed away.

"Miria," a voice whispered. She glanced behind her, but already new from whence the voice came. A tall, distinguished gentleman with a wiry frame, a strong jaw, and the kindest azure blue eyes was discreetly beckoning her; his hair, sharply short, was what the humans called salt-and-pepper – _a curious adage, _she noted – while his kempt goatee was regally silver. It was Admiral Charles Montgomery, senior officer of the review panel, former-superior, mentor, and personal friend. Casually, she sidled up next to him like the blatant wall-flowers they were.

"Admiral," she acknowledged, after a few moments had passed. She feigned disinterest.

"Liaison," he replied in kind.

With that one word, she knew. She was in. She had won.

* * *

Lt. Commander Erikssen sat fidgeting in the waiting room of Admiral Ranitz's office. He felt guilty for being so nervous. A ranking officer with command training should not be intimidated by a visit to an admiral's office. That did not change the fact that he was. Trying to play it cool did not happen: his nervously bouncing leg gave him away. The secretary's smirk was less than helpful. In fact it was quite annoying to Alexander. It was almost amusing to the commander how the littlest thing could really set one off; almost.

_I'd like to just - _

"The Admiral will see you now," the hairless, blue-skinned female informed him sweetly.

Rising, he nodded and gave the Bolian the biggest, fakest smile of thanks he could muster. The double doors swept apart as Alexander approached, revealing the Admiral's immaculately cavernous office suite.

"Alex!" the Admiral said in a very chipper tone. The elderly, white-headed man rose from behind his enormous desk and came to greet him, embracing him in a warm hug.

"Admiral," Alexander said cordially, "good to see you again." He hoped that he did not seem insincere. While he respected the man, Alexander generally did not like him and found the Admiral to be pretentious and self-absorbed. He knew that was a rather harsh judgment, and felt a twinge of guilt for feeling that way. The opinion had been formed over several years and from many encounters, though he would never dare express it openly.

"Let's get down to business."

Alexander waited patiently for the Admiral to proceed. Ranitz looked back and forth between several padds. He gathered them all together and sat them aside neatly in a pile. Folding his hands, he regarded Alexander with a peculiar gaze, as if sizing him up. A smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth and a puff of air was exhaled quickly through his nostrils. It was almost indiscernible when she slightly shook his head. Alexander had quit trying to interpret such expressions from than man years ago. He suspected it a game of control and that was one Alexander would never play.

"I imagine you're wondering why you're here, son," the Ranitz said, finally. Smirking, Alexander only nodded in reply. "Actually, I am too," the elderly man added.

_Does Ranitz not know…or did he just insult me_?

Rising again, Ranitz gestured toward a seating area facing a wide viewport adjacent his gargantuan desk. Alexander complied and changed seats. The admiral paused in front of the replicator and got himself a cup of steaming hot coffee, not bothering to ask Alexander if he would like something. He refrained from furrowing his brow as he tried to analyze the older man's stranger-than-usual behavior.

"I imagine you'd also like to know why you've been pulled from your last few assignments," Ranitz stated. "You've held quite a few, and the changes have been so frequent, if I might add. Doesn't look stellar when an officer can't hold down a position." He took a seat across from Alexander, not facing an obviously gorgeous starscape.

"Well, sir," Alexander said, ignoring the latter statement, "I have to admit, I have been a little curious."

_That's an understatement,_ he thought, suppressing the pressing urge to roll his eyes – a guilty pleasure of his.

Alexander had been at his current assignment for only a week: top-secret work on the new, already-in-production, _Prometheus-_class starship. He had had only enough time to familiarize himself with the ship and its experimental systems. Then, day before yesterday, he received his orders to report immediately to Deep Space Nine where he would be given further instructions. Just a few weeks prior to _Prometheus, _he had accepted a posting elsewhere, but was unable to even begin there before his unusual reassignment. Now, he found himself in the recently refitted space station in the office of his former professor and superior.

"I've gone over the schematics of that new runabout design of yours and I have to say it's impressive, unconventional, but impressive. What was it, the…_Yellowstone_ class?"

"Thank you, sir. And yes, _Yellowstone_-class runabout is correct," Alexander answered.

_What is going on?_ He thought to himself. _Something's up. He's chasing rabbit trails._ "I never really thought you had much of a knack for designing, but you're doing an adequate job of proving me wrong," Ranitz continued, emphasizing the word adequate, "I understand that _Pathfinder _is implementing your design for the _Companion_ mission."

"That's exciting news, sir," his was hardly the excited tone of one who had just learned he had been given a great honor. "I'm familiar with _Pathfinder_, but not _Companion_."

"You will be. Your transfer from the _Prometheus _project is effective immediately. Here are your orders. Report to briefing room Gamma-7 at 14:00 hours," Ranitz instructed him, his warmth and cheerfulness had completely dissipated.

"Yes, sir."

With that, the lt. commander was summarily ushered out of the grandiose office and into the corridor before he had time to register what had taken place. Shaking his head in confusion, he moved down the corridor, aimlessly away from the Admiral.

* * *

Blinking rapidly, Miria was speechless. Technically, she could not say anything anyway because it had not been formally announced. It would not have been appropriate, especially, considering her ill competitor was still present. She could barely suppress her glee.

_He did it on purpose!_ She realized. _He knew I wouldn't be able to react so he told me!_

Half-tempted to grind her elbow into Admiral Montgomery's ribs, she decided against it since he was a superior officer. At least with the watching eyes, it would go badly. And the announcement had yet to be officially made. It could be changed.

Unexpectedly, two more medics entered. They seemed surprised, but were quickly put to work cleaning up the mess by the first women. She then stood and announced that the man had been infected by a mutated strain of the stomach flu – very contagious – and everyone needed to be inoculated immediately or she would have to issue a quarantine.

No one resisted with the prospect of being stranded in the small room any longer. Finished with their work, the medics escorted the ill man away while the female administered the medication.

While waiting their turn, two male captains approached Miria and Montgomery.

"I see no need to delay the decision any longer, Charles," said the first. He had shockingly fair features and striking eyes, but otherwise humanoid features. The other was Vulcan, elderly with papery olive skin, dull russet eyes and hair, and an average build. Generally, he was unremarkable, but carried a notable presence.

"Ambassador Memlilia," the Admiral said, "these are Captains D'Landrii and Tevek."

D'Landrii shook her hand enthusiastically while Tevek only exchanged customary nods.

"It's an honor, sirs," she replied respectfully.

"I already have," Montgomery interjected, "made a decision, that is. The jobs hers if she wants it. She's just yet to accept it."

"There is little time to delay," Captain Tevek warned, "If you have come as far as to be in this room today, then logically, little debate should be left. Are you no longer interested? Or perhaps, were you not serious?"

Miria made a couple of gasping sounds. Completely caught off guard, she was appalled. Montgomery had set her up. She could also sense the private amusement Montgomery and D'Landrii were sharing; that was enough to rile her back to her senses.

"I accept, Captain Tevek," Miria stated, "Make no mistake; I am very interested and very serious. Forgive my hesitance, I only wished to show respect to my competitor. I did not wish to exacerbate his condition."

"How thoughtful," Montgomery offered; she gave him a look that said, "I hate you._"_ Her answer seemed to suffice; Tevek tipped his head to the side as he took a step back.

"Thank you. Thank you _all_, for the honor. You'll not be disappointed."

"How would you like to be a keynote speaker at the briefing today?" D'Landrii inquired, changing subjects completely. Once again baffled, she could only nod in agreement.

"Excuse me, sirs," said a timid voice. It was the medic; she was holding up her hypospray hopefully. "Just two left."

"Please," Montgomery said. She nodded nervously and quickly gave the admiral the vaccination. Moving onto to Miria, she paused to change her cartridge. Faintly, Miria sensed something: deception perhaps.

"What of the Vulcan female?" Miria wondered aloud to everyone, "Surely she was exposed as well. As is anyone she came in contact on her way out."

"Oh," the medic gave a nervous smile, "I…uh…I actually ran into her on my way here. I treated her first. I thought it was an isolated incident until I got here. That's why it took me so long…to get…here, I mean."

"Ah," Miria replied as she was given the painless injection. Montgomery and the others were heading swiftly away, guiding Miria along with them, but her thoughts were only on the medic. She kept stealing stray glances over her shoulder at the young woman. There was something recognizable about her, but what, Miria could not say.


	4. I: Reunions 3

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

I: Reunions

THREE

The tussle had turned into a brawl and landed Kaleb in the infirmary. He remembered trying to use diplomacy and reason to stop the fighters, but only succeeded in making them angrier. Kaleb was so intoxicated, that his lack of equilibrium and depth perception caused him to end up in the path of the human's swinging fist. He was on the floor with a remarkable shiner and had completely lost his bearings, along with his breakfast. Several other security officers had gotten involved; apparently, numerous wide beam phaser blasts – set on stun – were necessary to end the bar fight.

Kaleb was just now waking and found himself lying on a biobed with a fierce headache. Despite not actually looking with his own eyes, he knew, by the noise alone, that the infirmary was packed full of. Nonetheless, the chances of anyone's injuries being more severe than his own were unlikely in his mind.

_Why haven't I received any treatment yet?_ He wondered,_ I am a Starfleet officer, after all._

"Analgesic," Kaleb moaned.

"You can wait your turn!" an angry female voice shot back.

Kaleb dared to see who could be so audacious. Peaking from beneath his hands, the light seemed to pierce his very skull. When the pain faded and his pupils returned to a normal size, he saw a tall, hefty, solid woman: a doctor, he guessed by her uniform. She was glaring at him with her meaty hands jammed into her corpulent hips.

"Uh…it's okay, Doctor, I'll…take care of him," came an entirely less vicious voice. The angry lady frowned, turned up her nose, and spun away, her long braid swinging out behind her. She seemed to leave unrest in her wake as she moved out of sight.

The owner of the gentle voice – his savior – came into view. She managed a sympathetic smile. Though, by her face, it was obvious she was well beyond tired. Her sandy hair was slowly escaping from its loose bun, a strand falling haphazardly across her right eye.

"Long day?" Kaleb inquired.

"Like you wouldn't believe. It's my second shift." she answered. It was clear she was waiting for her day to end, and was not even concerned with discussing it at this point. "Name?"

"Lieutenant Vance, Kaleb."

Retrieving his medical file from the database, she began scanning him. Then, pulling a hypospray from its holster at her hip, she calculated the proper dose and loaded a cartridge.

"20cc's oughta do," she said administering the hypospray to his neck. "I'll be back to do something about that eye, Lieutenant, as soon as I've finished up over there." She was gone before he could even sit up.

"Thanks," he offered. Knowing she wouldn't hear him, he said it anyway. She was already across the room futilely attempting to stave off the other doctor's raging out-lashes. Steadying himself, he slowly rose to a sitting position. He was a little woozy, his head still hurting, but he supposed he could bare it for now until the pain-killer kicked in. Kaleb looked around the room; it was filled to the brim with patients. None seemed critical, but most were still waiting for treatment.

_Triage:_ _Musta been some fight…_

The sound of rustling next to him caught his attention. On the adjacent biobed was a tall and muscular man, slowly regaining consciousness. He seemed awfully familiar to Kaleb.

_ "_That's a fantastic shiner ya got there, boy," the man mumbled.

"It feels even better than it looks."

As he sat up, now facing Kaleb, the synaptic-dots connected themselves. _He _was the one who had struck Kaleb. The black-eyed lieutenant absentmindedly touched his eye, as if reliving the whole experience. Kaleb was in awe the bones in his face were not shattered.

_This guy is massive._

Probably two and a half meters tall, Kaleb guessed, he was built like a tarkalian buffalo. His arms were as big around as Kaleb's thighs, almost, and his fists were twice his size. Paired with his dark skin and eyes, the man was formidable, to say the least, and definitely recognizable. Kaleb suspected him as alien, although, besides his size, his features hardly suggested otherwise.

_It's a wonder I'm alive at all._

"That was some fight, huh?" the man was saying.

"Uh, yeah." Kaleb answered. The man had been talking, but Kaleb was not really listening. He was more concerned with how tipsy he still felt, and with how an instigator of one of the biggest civilian fiascos this station had probably seen in a long time was sitting in Sickbay instead of the Brig.

"…and can you believe how many people were in on this?" Kaleb's assailant was saying.

"Oh! Um yeah. I know, right?" He managed, and then added. "Will you excuse me for a minute? This headache is kicking my…" Kaleb trailed off as he attempted to dismount the biobed, but lost his footing. He was definitely still dizzy.

_Am I drunk_?

"Whoa there, fella. Careful." The man said, reaching out a ridiculously strong arm to steady the lieutenant.

"Thanks," he said, getting his balance. He tried to move away, but the man held on.

"You seem familiar…"

"I get that a lot," Kaleb said quickly, hiding his fear as best he could. "I have one of those faces."

"No, I know you from some where."

"Couldn't be. I think I'd remember you," the lieutenant quickly insisted.

The man shrugged and finally let go. Kaleb excused himself again and hurried as quickly as his seemingly-inebriated state would allow. Once out of sight of _big-hands_, Kaleb touched his commbadge.

"Vance to Security."

"This is Commander R'Vok."

"Commander," Kaleb breathed a sigh of relief. He had served under R'Vok before. "We got a problem here. I'm in the primary infirmary. I witnessed this morning's confrontation. One of the perpetrators is here now with the rest of the civilians. He seems suspicious to me and he could be dangerous, I suggest you get someone down here to take him in. I'd do it myself, but I'm a patient at the moment."

"Understood Lieutenant." replied R'Vok, "I will send a security detail down to take him into custody for questioning."

* * *

He was having the most wonderful dream about galloping across the open fields towards home, and dinner, on his favorite horse, a dust cloud kilometers long trailing behind them. Then, he was rudely shaken from his reverie.

"Koday, Koday wake up," said the intruder, "you'll wanna see this."

His eyes snapping open, Gedren's ugly face was peering down into his.

"What?"

"We're here," he said, "You gotta see it."

Koday had fallen asleep in the aft section of the little shuttlecraft that was ferrying them. The bench was hardly ideal for sleeping, but in a pinch, for a nap, it would do. Actually, anywhere would do because Koday could, would, did sleep anywhere. Raising his lanky frame to standing, he gruffly rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Stumbling, he found his way to the forward section and peered over the seatbacks to see what all the fuss was about.

He and Gedran, his fellow first year cadet, were on their ways home for winter break. The _Nagayatzu_ had brought them most of the way from the academy, but was sent on a mission. Thus they found themselves in a type two shuttlecraft with a begrudged lieutenant who no doubt wanted to be anywhere but there.

Under other circumstances, he would have enjoyed being in such a cramped space with the smoldering Lieutenant A'læ; she was possibly the most beautiful thing Koday had ever laid eyes on. Perfect skin darker than his deep olive tan, brilliant eyes, and dainty pointed ears, she was something special. Given her ears, he had guessed she was Vulcan, but her volatile temper made him doubt. After she had snapped at him and Gedran several times, he quickly lost interest.

The majority of students were able to take regular transportation from San Francisco to wherever, mostly planet-side or relatively not that far from Earth. But not Koday. Deep Space Nine, one of the furthest stations in the Federation was roughly only halfway there. From there he would catch a grubby transport home. There were other campuses, much closer, he could have attended; his mother insisted he go to the academy on Earth, as if his Starfleet training would be lesser if taken elsewhere. His family were settlers – terraformers – on Buvoi Zedd II: 26th moon of the second planet of one of the most distant star-system protectorates. It took weeks to get there and was not truly United Federation of Planets' territory as they were not actual members yet. It was wild country.

That's why Koday loved it. He also hated it. After spending only a few days at home under the open sky he would be back on the journey spending so much wasted time. Time that could be spent studying, his mother would say.

_Right…_

These were the times when he would question why he had bothered going to the academy at all. The farcical idea of getting away was short lived and he missed home: Not living at home, but his home world. It was his life, his identity. Cowboys do not belong in Starfleet. You cannot find that kind of adventure at a console.

"Alright, what am I looking at?" Koday yawned.

"Breath, Koday," Gedran gagged, "Wow."

"There she is," Lt. A'læ said. The view was filled with the most massive and majestic thing Koday had ever personally witnessed. He was appreciative that they were slowly circling so that he could take in every ounce.

Though not of Federation design, it now bore its regality. Deep Space Nine was a beauty. Her towering, tendriling, spires glistened amidst the twinkling starlight. Thoughts of sky and dust and open air faded as he saw the spaceport teeming with life. On the far side were two monstrous starships that Koday did not recognize the origin of and he was fascinated. Who were they? Where did they come from? Where were they going?

How he had missed all this when it was right in front of his nose, buried in books or not, for the last four months, Koday did not know, but he suddenly remembered why he decided to go the academy at all. This, he decided, was his life, his identity. Real cowboys do belong in Starfleet because you cannot find this kind of adventure on the open range.

* * *

"Ugh," Kaleb muttered, "What? Does a Xan'uk-hangover precede drunk?" Kaleb was feeling very nauseous again and dizzy as well. "Oh, my…" Kaleb moaned, steadying himself against the bulkhead. His world was spinning.

"Are you alright?"

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was the same nurse from earlier.

"Why, you're intoxicated?" she exclaimed, scanning him with her medical tricorder. "This didn't show up before. Have you been drinking since you arrived?!"

"What?! No!" Kaleb then grabbed his head and the bulkhead, attempting to keep his balance. She helped him back to his bed and began examining him. The large man sat up again.

"Is he alright?"

"He will be," she replied, "Just a little intoxicated."

He laughed a big hardy belly-laugh. "Seems Starfleet here can't hold his liquor."

The nurse shot him a harsh glare. He held up his hands and yielded, then stretched out on his biobed once more.

"This didn't show up before…were you drinking before you arrived?"

"No…well, yes, I was." Kaleb replied, suddenly remembering the proprietor had coerced him to partake or deal with legal action. _Lousy Ferengi_.

"Wait…" she said, "this isn't synthehol…this is alcohol! What did you have to drink?"

Kaleb was having a hard time focusing. He couldn't quite remember. What _had_ he been drinking? "Um…Ale. I think. It sas wome kind of ale. Whiskey…no…um…Xan'uk?"

"Xan'uk! You were drinking Xan'uk! No, wonder it didn't show up before. Xan'uk is notorious for evading detection in bloodstream-analyses," the nurse exclaimed, a hand on her hip and an incredulous look on her face, "How much?"

"…pev…peve…_s_even...pr-pints." Kaleb responded timidly, trying not to slur his words.

"Seven! You had seven pints?!" She threw up her hands in disgust and walked away.

_Is she going to treat me? _He wondered, slightly anxious. _Oh…I'm gonna be sick…_

The blonde woman returned with a new hypo and cartridge. After scanning him again, she forcefully popped the cartridge in and calibrated the dosage. With a sharp thrust, she pressed the hypo to his neck and administered an injection of the remedy.

"Ouch!"

A frown on her face, the woman busied herself with the readouts on her medical tricorder. Seeing that the dosage was not sufficient, she calculated another and raised her hand to give Kaleb another injection.

"Careful, this time," he protested.

"Oh, don't be a baby, lieutenant. It's not like it's a needle. Hyposprays are painless," she said, not bothering to take her eyes from the padd she was entering data into as she gave him the treatment.

"No need to bludgeon me," he muttered. He was already feeling better, so he added a half-hearted, "thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied facetiously. She began walking away, and then stopped. "It's illegal, ya know. As a Starfleet officer, you should know better."

"Illegal! You mean that no-good, big-eared, sorry-excuse-for-a-bar-tender forced me to knock back seven pints of illicit, black-market goods?!" Kaleb exclaimed. "I'll report _him_!" He jumped up in outrage and nearly ended up on the floor. The nurse was able to reach him and help him back onto the bed before he had yet another reason to be in Sickbay.

"What do you mean forced you?"

Kaleb sighed. "My big mouth is always getting me in to trouble," he confessed.

"I see," she said. The nurse concealed her smirk as she scanned him again.

"There was this Ferengi and he was trying to sell me some worthless piece of junk-"

"Ah, man…" She exhaled. Her anger deflated. "Say no more…you offended him with your 'big mouth' and seven pints of Xan'uk later, here you are."

"And here I am."

"Listen," the nurse said, putting away her tricorder. She seemed suddenly uncomfortable to Kaleb. "I misjudged you and over-reacted –"

"It's okay," he interrupted, saving her from an awkward apology. "Don't even worry about it. I totally understand. It's been a long day for you, anyway."

She gave him a closed-mouth but thankful smile, and sighed, obviously feeling relieved. Though wilted from an arduous duty schedule, she was not unattractive. Kaleb did make a mental-note at that moment the he thought she was pretty, though oddly familiar.

"I'll be back as soon as I can to do something about that eye, I promise."

Kaleb propped his feet up and leaned back, feeling much better. His eye was numb from the pain-killers and he was no longer nauseous, hung-over, dizzy, woozy, or anything else annoyingly uncomfortable. Interlocking his fingers behind his head and stretching out, his back propped against the headboard, Kaleb was just about to close his eyes and rest.

Two armed, yellow, grey, and black clad, Starfleet officers came through the entry directly across the room. His new acquaintance, the nurse, appeared to have been heading out the door when they entered and was now talking with them. Though Kaleb could not hear them, he had no doubt they were the security officers he had requested and that they were asking for him. As if on cue, the she pointed directly at Kaleb.

He subtly stole a glance at the neighboring biobed; thankfully he was dozing. Kaleb exhaled a breath of relief. Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor, being as quiet as possible, and began moving towards his reinforcements.

"EXCUSE ME!"

_Oh, what now_?

"What do you think you two are doing in my infirmary with weapons?" Kaleb's doctor had returned to the scene, and her mood seemed even less amiable than before. For a woman of her size she moved with frightening speed. Her doctor's coat billowing around her and her fore-finger accusingly stretched out, she was a startling sight. Her long brunette and burgundy braid trailed behind her, snapping dangerously as she darted between orderlies, nurses, and patients towards the officers.

Kaleb stopped dead in his tracks, fearful of getting in her path. The two officers and Kaleb made quick hand signals, communicating that he was the Starfleet officer that had summoned them.

"Who do you think you are barging in here, hmm?!" the doctor demanded, spinning both officers around like pawns to face her. Her cranial ridges were blushing a brilliant shade of purple. A nasty-looking vein stretching across her forehead was bulging tremendously. Kaleb might have pointed and guffawed obnoxiously had she not been more alarming than comical.

Before they could answer, she disarmed them and dumped their handheld phasers in a passing-by cart. The two men were astonished and speechless. Her large hands were balled and jammed into her equally large hips and one foot was tapping impatiently.

"Well?" she asked. The doctor was obviously waiting for an answer; she had the tone of an angry mother, doubtful there could be any explanation for such behavior.

Kaleb was unsure what moved him to look, but he dared a glance back and saw the large man was up and off his bed, moving quickly toward the other exit.

"Hey, hold on!" Kaleb called. The instigator took off running and Kaleb after him. He heard commotion behind him and saw his fellow officers go sprawling as the doctor burst between them. Kaleb gulped, his head snapping back around to front. Speed was imperative now, not only to catch the fugitive, but to keep ahead of the behemoth of a woman who called herself 'Doctor'.

_Caught between a rock and a hard place…_

Unfortunately, as Kaleb once again brought his focus forward, he turned straight into the escapee's devastating blow. He bounced off the man's fist and felt his feet continue to skid forward. Kaleb was sure his skull was about to be shattered wide open - like a melon over a cliff being dashed on the rocks below - as it connected with the floor.

Strong hands suddenly cradled his head as blissful blackness enveloped him.


	5. I: Reunions 4

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

I: Reunions

FOUR

"Ow! That hurts."

"If you'd hold still, it wouldn't."

For the third time that day, Kaleb was perched atop a biobed in Sickbay. He felt like a kid in the school nurse's office who was in trouble for being involved in fights he did not start – or win. He was finally being treated for his two bruised eye sockets. The second had been won in his most recent confrontation. Only this time, his amiable nurse was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Kaleb was the patient of the poorly-dispositioned Doctor.

"…some bedside manner," Kaleb mumbled.

He was surprised to learn that it was she who had broken his fall.

_Well, _he conceded,_ she is a doctor after all. Can't have patients needlessly dying. _

"There. All finished," she exulted, clasping her hands together. "Now, try to stay out of trouble for the rest of the day. _Please_." She cackled jovially as she moved away, her braid ever swinging behind her. Even it seemed merrier. Kaleb stopped in mid-descent from the bed, baffled by the sudden mood swing.

_Guess all she needed was a good fight_…

"Oh, and your friend who brought you by earlier? He's waiting outside to take you to security. You have to identify the little guy you roughed you up."

"_Little_ guy?" Kaleb repeated incredulously and then laughed aloud.

_Wait…what friend_? _I don't even know how I got here in the first place._

Confused, Kaleb exited the now deserted infirmary into the small anteroom that served as a waiting area. Standing in the doorway, he scanned the room for anyone that looked even remotely familiar. There was a civilian couple and their child – Bajorans – sitting nearby, a female with skin the color of rawhide sat behind an enclosed desk; she conversing with an elderly female of a race he did not recognize. Next to the exit was a young man hunched over several padds intently reading or studying.

Off hand, Kaleb did not recognize anyone, but the young man was wearing a black and red Starfleet uniform; so, he was the most likely option. His blond head was bent over so that Kaleb could not see his face. Still, Kaleb was sure he knew the man from somewhere after taking a closer look. It was possible he had been present that morning or…

_Nuh-uh!_

"Alex!" He boisterously proclaimed his epiphany. The entire room sat up a little straighter, startled. The Bajoran child began crying. Everyone was staring at Kaleb, not that he noticed. The blond, looking almost embarrassed by the outburst, stood slowly. Kaleb rushed over immediately and wrapped him in a warm and familiar embrace.

"Hi," he said casually to Kaleb with a smirk, his possible embarrassment now faded, returning the embrace, "Glad to see you're conscious for once today."

Kaleb rolled his eyes and agreed, "You and me both." A puzzled expression crossed Kaleb's face. "Wait. What…You…How did I- ?" Kaleb's recollection was fragmented at best, and he was unsure as to what he should asking about.

Alexander laughed. Guiding Kaleb into the hall with a hand on his shoulder, he offered, "Why don't you start at the beginning and I'll tell you what I know, hmm?"

"Aw," Kaleb cooed sarcastically, "I've missed my Alex-details."

"I've missed you too," He grinned, and then added ponderingly, "It _has_ been awhile, hasn't it? Well, we'll have plenty of time to catch up soon enough. Right now, we have to get you down to the Brig to ID your _assailant._" Alexander rolled his eyes at that last thought.

Kaleb scoffed in agreement with a noisy exhalation. Alexander tapped his commbadge and said, "Erikssen to R'Vok, we're on our way now."

"Acknowledged. I shall meet you there."

As the two old friends strolled down the corridor towards the turbolift, Kaleb dramatically recounted to Alexander a brief – if not exaggerated – synopsis. Alexander only smirked in reply. Arriving at the lift, they stepped through the automatic doors and then faced forward, the doors _swooshing_ shut. Alexander punched their destination into the controls. A negative tone sounded.  
"**Access denied. Security Clearance Required for Restricted Areas**."

He frowned and entered his code again. On the third attempt, Alexander gave a voice activated command. Nothing. Expectantly, he looked to Kaleb and shrugged.

"I've got it," Kaleb said, entering his command codes. An affirmative beep followed and the turbolift began moving. "She's still doesn't seem to like you. You'd think an Ops officer would have a little more savvy."

"She," Alexander said obstinately, melodramatically crossing his arms, and shaking his head, "is impossible."

As if responding, the gyrondyne relays of lift began to whine.

"See," he insisted.

Kaleb rolled his eyes.

"I see your command codes worked. You stationed here?" Alexander asked.

Kaleb shook his head. "I was temporarily. I'm actually on a week's shore leave right now. My ship arrives tonight and is due to leave for a mission first thing in the morning."

"My codes would have worked, too! Well… probably not, knowing my luck," he mused. "What ship are you posted on?"

"The _Vanguard_," Kaleb replied proudly. He could not help but to straighten up a little, his chest up and chin out, as he said it. The _Vanguard_ was a _Sovereign-_class: the same as the Federation's flagship and most advanced starship, the _Enterprise-E. _

"The _Vanguard_, huh? Nice," he remarked approvingly. "Lemme guess…Chief of Security and Tactical, and...Second Officer?"

"Funny," Kaleb retorted.

Alexander laughed. "Sorry. So…"

"I'm a junior officer: security. I'm at Tactical on the Bridge for night-shifts 3…4 nights a week, day shift sometimes too. I lead some of the security-details for away-missions, or for accompanying senior officers, guests, and what not."

"That's not bad for a brand-new ship of that size."

"I guess," Kaleb shrugged, his _Vanguard_ glow fading. "What about you?"

The lift stopped and opened. They stepped out and continued on their way.

"I'm kinda in between assignments right now," he said, a little vague as always. "I was reassigned this morning and I'm not sure what the post is. I've got a briefing at 14:00."

"Mysterious," Kaleb teased.

"Shut up."

"It's almost thirteen hundred now. After I ID this guy, you wanna grab lunch, if there's still time? Or maybe an early dinner after your briefing?" the lieutenant suggested as they arrived at the Brig, pausing outside.

"Do I wanna eat? I'm surprised it took you this long to bring it up."

"_Then_ maybe you could tell me what happened today," Kaleb jested, "fill in the blanks like you promised." Alexander nodded with a grin as they entered the Brig.

* * *

It was certainly the most secure Brig Alexander had ever seen, not that he had spent much time in one. He had, however, only seen them aboard starships, and did not know to expect otherwise. He considered it quite sensible for a starbase to have a more secure facility. The extra force-field between the exit and the holding cell was very practical, in Alexander's opinion, as were the security lock-outs for the surrounding passage-ways; though it did make for an especially difficult situation should the holding cell ever fail; the guard could not easily retreat if necessary.

As they entered the Brig, Alexander immediately noticed that, as far as he could tell, there was nothing even remotely resembling a cell anywhere. The armor plating on the bulkheads appeared to be reinforced by an alloy he did not recognize. A recessed defensive grid also complimented the chamber: presumably a phaser strip, if he had to guess.

_This_, he decided, _was definitely part of Deep Space Nine's refit_.

* * *

Commander R'Vok greeted Alexander and Kaleb as they entered with a customary nod of the head. The olive-skinned Vulcan male stood stiffly next to a control station with wrist-in-hand behind his back.

"Lieutenant Commander; Lieutenant," he said simply, greeting them, "it is good to see you again."

Kaleb took his hand and shook it with both of his enthusiastically. "It's great to see you too, Commander. How's the wife and kids?"

"They are well," R'Vok replied flatly, his annoyance scarcely masked. Kaleb knew he logically found the question irrelevant. If Vulcans never changed their ways for others' benefits, he assumed he should not have to either.

"Thank you for asking," R'Vok added, "This way, please."

He gestured for them to proceed to the main chamber. A force-field blocked their path, but an ensign on the opposite side deactivated it so that the three officers could enter the area where Kaleb presumed the prisoners were being held.

"Thank you, Ensign. That will be all." R'Vok said and took the ensign's post behind the console. He then motioned for the ensign to stand guard at the outer door. The force-field reactivated. Looking up from the display to Kaleb, he instructed, "Describe the individuals involved in both altercations this morning."

* * *

Alexander was busy scrutinizing the room until he noticed R'Vok order the guard on duty to stand watch beyond the force-field they had just passed through. Alexander thought this slightly odd, but dismissed it. The Commander took his place at the security console, the only LCARS display in the room, and asked Kaleb to describe his attacker. Kaleb did as requested and R'Vok only nodded in response. When he was satisfied, he held up a hand for Kaleb to cease, without looking away from the display.

_That's an awfully impersonal gesture, even for a Vulcan, _Alexander thought, _Hmm, curious, Kaleb always spoke so highly of him._

"Commander Erikssen," R'Vok ordered, "Step away from that bulkhead."

"Yes sir," Alexander complied quickly, despite his confusion. He had been standing directly across the rectangular room from Kaleb and the commander against a blank wall; they were on either side of the small console, facing the bulkhead. There was a _hiss_ and the wall retracted into the ceiling, revealing an empty force-field covered holding cell.

_Nifty_, Alexander mentally remarked.

There was a shimmer of light as five individuals materialized in the cell. Alexander's eyes went wide as he saw who he refused to believe could be Kaleb's twice attacker. He did not even notice that the other four bore no resemblance to the description Kaleb gave.

* * *

"The guy in the middle, that's him," Kaleb informed R'Vok. "The big guy there."

The towering alien with myriad hair from the fight, the shortest Klingon Kaleb had ever seen, and two lanky, mottled skin alien youths also occupied the cell. Once the incarcerated gathered their bearings, they noticed the officers. A racket began as they demanded their freedom. Upon Kaleb's assailant seeing him, he called out.

"Hey, buddy! Whadaya say you get me outta here?"

Kaleb laughed, "Right. I've only got two eyes. I am not letting you bruise anything else of mine. Today or ever."

"You are positive that's him," R'Vok asked, somewhat impatiently.

"Now, I definitely am."

"Really?" Alex inquired. He seemed incredulous.

"His name is Maury Korbette. He's registered as a merchant refueling here on his way to the Cardassian homeworld."

"What?" Alex interjected, "I'd know him anywhere. That's-"

"Commander, I'm afraid you're mistaken," R'Vok replied sternly. "This _is_ Maury Korbette."

Kaleb stared at the two. Something seemed off. R'Vok was acting strangely, as though he were perturbed that Alexander disagreed with him.

_What does it matter what Alex thinks this creep's name is_? 

"Well I don't know _you,_ man," Korbette retorted. Alex's head snapped to stare at the dark-skinned suspect, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"I've just checked the security logs and it seems that he has an alibi. He was meeting with the shuttle bay chief at the alleged time of both altercations," R'Vok informed them. "Mr. Korbette, you are free to go."

"What?!" Both officers exclaimed. Kaleb knew this was against procedure.

"Commander," he began to protest.

Pressing several buttons on the console, R'Vok dropped the security field and all five emerged from the cell.

"Hey, no hard feelings?" Korbette offered, holding out his hand. Before he could respond, Korbette took Kaleb's hand and spun him around, slamming him against the wall with his arm pinned behind his back.

"What the hell?" Kaleb cried out.

* * *

"Hey!" Alexander protested, jumping into action. As he was about to slam his clasped fists and forearms down onto ridiculously broad shoulders of the alleged "Maury Korbette," the tall, lean alien boys looped their arms beneath his own and restrained Alexander. Meanwhile, the ridiculously tall alien with dreadlocks had taken the handheld phaser in the recess of the security console. He ordered R'Vok to give him his security access codes.

R'Vok punched them in without hesitating.

Alexander could not believe it. He was about to object, but the remaining jail-breaker – a Klingon – sucker punched him in the gut. He grunted, as the air was forced from his lungs. Roughly, a strong hand gripped his head and held on firmly; it kept him doubled over.

A bright light told Alexander someone had fired a phaser; a heavy thud and the limp body of R'Vok filling Alexander's view of the floor confirmed his theory. Faintly, muffled cries escaped from Kaleb as he struggled in vain to free himself.

The air crackled as two more shots were fired. Alexander was free. The alien youths lay crumpled on the ground. Several more bolts zinged passed.

As he quickly took cover, Alexander glimpsed the guard on duty in a firefight with the Klingon. The dreadlocked escapee was working fervently at the console. Alarms turned on and then off again as he hacked the security grid. A force-field blocked the entrance – or rather the escape, as he now saw it.

Alexander was sprawled flat on his front. He reached under himself and tapped his commbadge. Attempting to contact reinforcements, he found a dampening field prevented his signal from escaping. Crawling on his elbows, the blond moved quickly towards the console. A phaser fired, a voice cried out, and a body hit the floor behind him.

Alexander was hidden beneath the podium-like security console. Just a few centimeters from his outstretched fingers, was the shooter's leg. Without warning, it vanished in a column of pale green light.

He jumped up. Looking around, he saw the other four had disappeared as well. Kaleb returned his look of bewilderment and then rushed to check R'Vok's pulse. Alexander did the same for their rescuer. They shared knowing looks while mournfully shaking their heads. Alexander then deactivated the dampening, security, and force-fields.

"Erikssen to Security," Alexander said as he tapped his badge, "Security breach in the Brig. We've got two fatalities."


	6. I: Reunions 5

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

I: Reunions

FIVE

Miria had only visited DS9 twice before. This was her first since the tremendous renovations. The architects seemed to have come up with new floor-space from seemingly nowhere. The additions of new office suites, VIP accommodations, crew and habitants quarters, and luxury dining and meeting halls – to name a few – were just some of the upgrades she had noticed. Her current locale was no exception; where they found the available space to carve out such an extensive auditorium-like briefing room – simply named "Briefing Room Gamma-7" – she could not imagine.

Though Miria had spoken before large congregations – much larger than this one – before, including addressing the Federation Council on a few honored occasions, this felt different. The air sizzled with excitement and anticipation. Everything about this gathering had been very hush-hush from the beginning. The majority of attendants were only made aware of its existence and their inclusion hours earlier.

She was seated far stage left on a high-rising platform several meters above the main floor. Notably, no one was milling about; the two hundred or so chairs were filled with anxious officers. She was one of seventeen seated on stage; one of four who would speak. Miria tried not to fidget while rereading her notes for the countless time. After reading the first line for the eighth time without comprehension, she forfeited and tucked the padd away. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and calmed herself.

Admiral Paris, present at her earlier review, convened the briefing and gave a succinct background of the mission full of numbers and dates. He and another man shared the floor for several minutes while they educated the gathering. Next, Montgomery spoke. She envied him; he had the crowd hanging on his every last word. Normally, she would quantify such charisma as charm – which she found detestable – if it were not for the fact that he was just so genuine.

"…Ambassador Miria Memlilia." It almost did not register when he said her name.

_Okay. This is it. _She told herself as she rose and approached the lectern. Miria was greeted with an unexpectedly warm reception. Out of the corner of her eye, she was surprised to see the medic from the Executive Review sitting on the back row. Why she noticed and why she cared niggled at the back of her mind. Brushing the thoughts aside, she smiled at her audience.

"Thank you all kindly," Miria began. It was a speech she would not soon forget.

* * *

He was surprised by the lack of security; it had been far too easy to gain access to the maintenance shaft he was suspended in. Starfleet's overconfidence had returned with the end of the war. From his perch, he had a perfect view of near every angle of the hall.

In his left hand was a high-powered thermal monocle, and in his right, a short wave device for communications that was too archaic to be detected. Both were clipped to his harness so that they could be instantly dropped but not lost. Below him, suspended in a harness of its own, was a custom crafted sniper rifle loaded with lethal, quick dissolving darts that were completely undetectable. When fired, the shell of each became superheated plasma.

His short wave blinked twice. Quickly, he held it to his ear.

"Nightingale to Torrence. He's here. Repeat, he's here."

"Copy that Nightingale. All hush."

Dropping the short wave, he reached for his rifle while swinging towards the propped open hatch. Peering through his monocle – set for body heat – he waited. Then it was there. A Jeffries tube ran the length of the room behind the stage; someone was unmistakably in there.

"So predictable," he muttered, dropping his monocle and taking aim with the scope. Not hesitating for a moment, he fired. The shot traversed the chamber in milliseconds, passing through the bulkhead without a sound. Grabbing the monocle for a better look, he saw the thermal image of a small horizontal frame. In the fraction of a moment, a crisis had been adverted and the hoity-toity brass were all none the wiser.

Growling, he spat and gripped the short wave. "Got him. Stand down, Nightingale."

_That wasn't him!…Where are you?_

_

* * *

_

Detained for several hours by a security team of investigators, Alexander missed his 14:00 briefing. He went through extensive questioning about the altercation. Apparently, the Brig's security system had been tampered with and there was no evidence, save a few phaser burns on the bulkheads and the bodies of his fallen comrades, to corroborate their story. There was not even a record of a transport taking place when the five fugitives disappeared.

He had finally convinced the investigators of his reasonable innocence enough for them to contact someone about his absence from the briefing. There was still no word on whether someone would be filling him in. None of what was happening added up in Alexander's mind. He was now sitting in a blank room, waiting. For what, he did not know. For how much longer, he did not know that either. At least two hours had gone by as Alexander sat in the room.

He just sat.

There was a _hiss_ and the door suddenly opened.

"Commander Erikssen, please join us in here," ordered a voice.

He found Kaleb sitting across from a young Commander behind a simple desk. His friend's short dark hair was ruffled and his uniform jacket hung haphazardly on the chair back; he was slouched low and his unshaven face told he was clearly disgruntled. Joining him, Alexander gave Kaleb a small glance that let him know he was glad to see him.

"Boys," the officer said, "you're very lucky."

"And why is that, _sir_?" Kaleb demanded; he was agitated.

"You've just been cleared."

Alexander sighed and sat back.

"We discovered a transmission from the lieutenant commander's commbadge in the communication's log. This corroborates you trying to call for help. Actually, even though you thought you weren't able to get through, a feedback in the dampening field caused the comm to audio-record everything until when reported the fatalities."

"Convenient," Alexander mused. "With all due respect Commander…"

"Torrence, Nathan Torrence."

"Commander Torrence, there was plenty of reasonable cause to believe us before this. Finger prints, DNA on the phasers, missing prisoners, perfectly legitimate alibis, etc. I mean really, what's this all about, sir?"

"Classified."

"Five escaped criminals, two dead officers, and five hours under interrogations, and the _best_ you can do for us is _classified_?" Kaleb erupted.

"Careful lieutenant," Torrence warned, his tone remained consistently cool, "you wouldn't want to risk insubordination. Thank you for your help, _boys_; you may be hearing for me again. Dismissed."

For the second time that day, Alexander found himself bewildered in a corridor.

* * *

Absently, Miria impatiently tapped her fingers on the table. Her chin was propped on her hand and she was slightly biting her lip. All of which were telltale signs of worry. Anger had given way to concern roughly fifteen minutes before when the half-an-hour mark had passed.

Miria was seated at a table for two in the brand-new, illustrious dining hall reserved for VIPs. Although still wearing her starch white, flattering dress uniform, Miria had let her hair down – thick, brilliant, auricomous waves spiraling almost autonomously – and donned her engagement ring once again. The table was on one of the higher daises, giving whoever sat there a full view of the entire seating area as well as a spectacular view of the stars through one of the largest viewports Miria had ever seen on a Federation space station. The transparent plane stretched from the floor of her level to the vaulted ceilings some twenty meters above.

The hall – a massive and glamorously nonessential space – was located on the uppermost level of the station. Previously a military-minded outpost, the station had just been refitted as a sort of icon to represent the still precarious peace between the Federation and the Cardassians. It was more a pact-of-nonaggression-for-now than it was anything else, but since Deep Space Nine had been a foothold for both sides, the refit was an olive branch, promoting trade, commerce, and culture over military prowess. Ironically, the station was now even more fortified than ever.

The ambassador had been present at a number of those peace talks and had been quite an influential political figure in many instances throughout the Dominion War despite her lack of position or rank. Though Miria was a Starfleet Commander, she was an ambassador by trade thus making her rank nullified in the eyes of most former and current starship captains. They only saw a diplomat.

"All you can see is protocol and pacifism. It's time we send those arrogant Cardassians and their shifty Dominion friends back where they came from. _Diplomacy_…" one Captain had snubbed.

"And all you can see is what's on your short range sensors," she had replied coolly. "With phasers blazing, you try to take out any hostile force in sight. It's time you take a look beyond the helm of your own starship and see the bigger picture: there's a lot more at stake than just 'sending them back where they came from.' The fates of numerous states are hanging by a thread. The balances of power are shifting across three Quadrants. _Diplomacy_ will stop more suffering and salvage the futures and well-being of more people than you can imagine. We're in a war here, _Captain_, and in case you hadn't noticed, we're losing…"

That little speech landed her in the Brig of that particular Captain's ship and she nearly ended up with a formal reprimand in her personal file for insubordination. Admiral Montgomery had been present and came to her rescue. He was thoroughly impressed by her gumption; he saw her potential and became a mentor, helping usher Miria into the political arena. She began working for Montgomery both directly and indirectly. He was very important to her, both professionally and personally.

That had been just two years ago. It seemed much longer a time to the ambassador. The experience – along with the esteem of her colleagues – she had earned during this time, coupled with her natural talent, charisma, and poise, gave her the precise advantage that she needed. Add to that the pool of skills she had amassed before and since her academy days. That advantage did exactly what Miria had hoped: land her the job of a lifetime.

_Ambassador Miria Memlilia, Federation Liaison to the Gamma Quadrant,_ she mused.

Confident she would get the position, Miria had made reservations at the exclusive locale for this evening to celebrate. Her fiancé was to meet her there at 18:00 hours. DaKen was often late, but never overly so. He always called ahead if he was going to be any more than ten minutes late.

Forty minutes later, Miria waited.

Several tiers down, a sleek bar – every seat filled – stretched across half the dining hall, separating it from a cozy cantina. Tall solid panes of polarized glass allowed the VIPs to see out, but did not work for the plebian in reverse. On the cantina-side, Miria saw a tall figure make himself known at the bar. She recognized his confident stride as he joined a young woman: Captain D'Landrii.

Miria paid no further attention to him as she saw a waiter break away from the bar and move through surrounding tables. With a fierce glare, eyes ridiculously wide as though she were trying to see right through him, Miria stared down at him certain he would feel her gaze, notice her and come to her service.

"Can I help you ma'am?"

The voice startled her. An elderly Bolian female held a padd, ready to take down whatever order she might have.

"Uh…yes," Miria stuttered. "Thank you." She then requested that the server find out if DaKen had left word or if anyone had seen him, and to send a message to their quarters.

If DaKen had been Starfleet, she would have contacted him on his commbadge. Since she was only a visitor to the station, and he merely her civilian guest, he had not been issued one. During their temporary stay, he was all but invisible. Not wanting to loose their reservations, Miria refrained from going on a man-hunt.

_Where could he be_?

* * *

Lieutenant A'læ was grateful for a few hours to herself. Her work required so much travel of late she missed the days when she was simply an officer aboard a starship. The unexpected task of chaperoning two male first year cadets when her transport was recalled proved to be less than enjoyable. Procuring them quarters and leaving them to their own irresponsibility was a relief.

A'læ changed from her uniform into a long, flowing outfit of a silvery grey, gauzy material that was cinched high above the waist with a jade sash – which caused her eyes to seemingly glow almost unnaturally. Her hair, usually pulled straight and kempt in a high and tight bun, cascaded down her slender frame in its naturally tight but polished zigzag curls; an ornate, silver headband pushed behind her daintily pointed ears kept it out of her face. Touching up her makeup, A'læ critiqued her appearance before going for a drink.

Sitting alone at a table for two, A'læ held a flute of a dark burgundy wine in one hand and a padd in other. The lights were kept low in the cantina, simulating twilight, giving the establishment a refined, but sultry atmosphere. Peoples of various worlds were sparsely seated. Most were couples, or males on the prowl. Two Starfleet officers were tucked away inconspicuously obvious in a corner. The face she could see, she didn't know; the other was faced away. For a moment, the back of his fair head caught her eye, but she dismissed it. The bar was unusually quiet; no ruckus. A'læ was not surprised when she was approached several times with requests to join her; it only ever took a glance to send them scurrying away. After finishing several chapters of the novel, A'læ was nearly ready to retire for the evening.

"Hello there."

She was startled, not noticing anyone approach, to see someone sitting across from her.

"Captain," she responded quietly, though still surprised.

"You must have forgotten your commbadge," he remarked, eyeing her outfit. His voice was smooth and the candlelight glinted off his amber, felin-esque eyes as he leaned forward and whispered. "I had quite a time tracking you down."

"My mistake," A'læ replied coolly. "Sir."

"It's interesting. Station logs say your ship never arrived, but here you are. You're late."

"I took a shuttle," she said matching his cadence. "I'm still on leave until tomorrow."

"Hmm," he said finally, voice low, "Well, if you had arrived when you were supposed to, you'd know there was an…_incident_…this morning, and another this afternoon. I could have used you. At any rate, you've been transferred. I need you elsewhere. Enjoy your day off."

At that, the Captain rose and walked away without another word.

* * *

"Any word on your assignment?" Kaleb asked.

He and his friend were hunched over their meals at a small cantina having a late dinner. Alexander shook his head, absently spinning a spoon in his extra-sweetened iced tea. In his periphery, he noticed a captain walk by. Starfleet usually did not deign this establishment, hence their presence. _Incongruous? Maybe, but necessary to avoid attention? Definitely._

"Admiral Ranitz left the station this morning. He's out of contact range. I've talked to a few other people, but I really don't know who my direct superiors are at this moment, so I'm kinda at a loss. I sent a communiqué to Commander Harkins at _Pathfinder_, hoping he can help me out."

"Well," Kaleb said, "I'm not supposed to report in til morning, but my ship is due to arrive tonight. I'm in pretty good with my first officer: Commander Tal Celesse, a real knock-out. I bet she could put a word in with Captain Tevek. He pulls a lot of weight; he'll help. "

"Thanks, that'd be great."

"Congrats on the promotion by the way!" Kaleb proclaimed, suddenly remembering. "I noticed your pips earlier when R'Vok -"he stopped short, emotion caught in his throat. "Sorry. I served under him for a long time."

Alexander gave him a sympathetic smile. He was grateful Kaleb had been distracted from his promotion. Alexander did not like talking about it. Some honors are not worth the sacrifice. He absently noticed the captain again, leaving this time. Craning his neck ever-so-slightly, Alexander was suddenly curious to see who the man had visited. He caught a glimpse of curls and shimmery fabric as she left his line of sight. His memory tingled for an finite moment.

"What a strange day," Alexander commented, shaking off the thought and changing the subject further. "mysterious assignments, happenstance reuniting, random drama. I mean the last thing I expected this morning was to find my old friend lying unconscious in a pool of his own vomit in the remnants of a fist fight."

Kaleb laughed, "So it _was_ you who took me to Sickbay?"

"Yep, me and this real nice Ferengi I met – owns the bar down there I think – hauled you all the way to the infirmary."

"Was his name Quark?" Kaleb's laughter immediately dissipated.

"Yeah I think so…why?"

"No reason." Shaking his head in disgust, mumbling, "lousy Ferengi."

Alexander shrugged.

"Alex, was it just me, or was protocol just thrown out the window today?" Kaleb asked.

The blond nodded.

"I smell scandal. Something's up and I'm gonna find out what it is."

"Kaleb," Alexander grabbed his friend's forearm and looked him in the eyes, "Digging into Starfleet internal affairs looking for conspiracy theories isn't the safest or smartest idea. Especially, when we were suspects a few hours ago."

"You _know_ that fight was a distraction for something. They've never seen anything that big here before. And R'Vok, how does he play into all this. Victim: yes. Just a bystander," Kaleb paused, "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"The commander was acting strange. He said 'he's' 'that's' and 'I'm;' R'Vok _never_ used contractions_. _He even seemed a little emotional when you disagreed with him. And the way he just let them all out of their cells…"

Alexander pondered for a moment. "You're right. He was a little un-Vulcan like. And then he just gave the prisoners his access codes without blinking. And what was with that interrogation? That was a little ridiculous."

"I think we're on to something and I want to get to the bottom of it."

"Kaleb," Alexander pressed, "can you at least wait until the official reports come out?"

"_Vanguard_ leaves tomorrow. We'll be gone for months, deep space."

"I tell you what," Alexander said, "when we speak to your Captain, we can address this then. Tevek is a Vulcan too; he'll see your logic."

"Ok," Kaleb acquiesced, "but we go tonight."

Alexander nodded. "It was the strangest thing: that guy that hit you."

"You said you thought he was someone else, yeah?"

His brow furrowed, "I don't know," and he shook his head.

_It couldn't be_.


	7. I: Reunions 6

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

I: Reunions

SIX

"Yes, thank you. I appreciate your help. Ambassador Memlilia out," Miria signed off. She pressed a few buttons and then closed the display of her workstation. She had just filed a missing-person report with DS9. Normally, twenty-four hours was required for such things, but with her connections and their impending departure, protocol did not apply.

It was 22:34 hours and no one had seen her fiancé since she left her quarters that morning.

_Oh DaKen, where are you?_

He was not the type to disappear on a whim, to not call. Drinking, bar hoping, or dancing was not something he partook of, especially alone. The chance of him being out merry-making or off with another woman was slim to none. His character and devotion simply put those thoughts to rest. The only explanation in Miria's mind was that he was in trouble.

Her imagination began to run wild with scenarios until it became too much to bear. She could not just sit in her quarters and wait patiently for DaKen not to be found. Nor could she spend two months in a distant quadrant without saying goodbye. She was a diplomat, an ambassador, a political activist. It was her business to get things done.

Still wearing her impeccably clean dress uniform, the ambassador was out the door. Her first mission was to obtain a schematic of the station. She would narrow down places he might have visited during the day. Haste was important, as many proprietors would be closing down shop, if they had not already.

Suddenly, Miria stopped. She sensed a presence she had not felt in a very long time. It was very familiar, but different somehow: changed, perhaps.

"Mems?!"

Spinning around she came face to face with the presence. Tall, blond, and handsome, wearing black and red with two and a half pips. Miria shrieked with delight and instantly pounced on him with a tight embrace.

"Alex!" She doted, "it's so good to see you, friend. Or should I say: Commander."

"Lieutenant Commander," he corrected, humbly, "how are you? You look amazing."

"I-" she began, but was cut off as he grabbed her hand.

"What is this?!" Alexander demanded with much glee, "Look at the size of this rock!"

She blushed, and then her countenance fell as she remembered her missing fiancé.

"What? What's wrong, Mems?"

She waggled her ring finger in front of her frowning face. "He is…missing. I'm out looking for him now."

"Well, I'll help."

"Oh! That would be wonderful." Miria said, very appreciative, "That would be so great. Thank you so much."

"Sure. It's my pleas–" Alexander began, "Oh no. I _can't_. I'm on my way somewhere very important right now. As soon as I'm done, I'm yours. Sorry."

"It's fine, really." She smiled, "Where're you going? Got a hot date?"

He chuckled, "I wish. Actually, it's kinda complicated."

Alexander quickly explained a very condensed version of the day's events. Miria began to use her telepathy to probe his mind to help gather the details for herself. She found his mental barriers to be much more fortified than she remembered.  
_Odd…_

"Do you have your padd?"

"Yeah, it's right here." Alexander retrieved the data storage device containing his orders and handed it to her. He joked, "I don't think it contains anything classified."

"Problem solved," she exulted. "I'm on _Pathfinder's Companion_ mission. I spoke at this briefing you missed this afternoon."

Raising his head to the ceiling, eyes closed, he let out a loud sigh. "Unbelievable."

"I'm almost certain we holo-recorded the briefing. I can probably get it _and_ your personal briefing materials from my C.O." Miria informed him, "It is late, but he should still be up. Night before a big mission like this, he probably won't sleep a wink."

"You are a lifesaver. No, you are absolutely amazing."

She smiled. "Come on. We'll go see him –"

"And then we'll go a-man-hunting."

Grateful, Miria gave him another big hug.

"Just one quick thing," Alexander said, tapping his commbadge, "Erikssen to Vance."

"Vance here. Where _are_ you? The Captain's waiting."

"Kaleb, I'm sorry. I ran into another old friend. Turns out were on the same project. She's taking me to my new commanding officer now. Please convey my thanks to the Captain and Commander. And thank you. If you need me to speak with them concerning," he paused, "the, uh, _other_ matter, I will be happy to at their earliest convenience."

"Ok, _great_. Good luck. Vance out."

Miria raised her eyebrow questioningly at him. He shrugged innocently.

* * *

Kaleb was now aboard the _Vanguard. _He reentered the Captain's ready room where Tevek and Commander Tal were patiently waiting.

"Alex sends his thanks and his regards. Apparently, he took care of it. He's meeting with his new C.O. now." Kaleb reported, slightly exasperated.

"That is good news," Tevek stated and sipped his tea.

"Requesting an urgent meeting with a Captain and his X.O. at such a late hour and then canceling might be considered conduct unbecoming an officer," Tal suggested tersely.

"Actually, that's not the only reason we wanted to meet with you."

Tevek raised an eyebrow from behind his teacup.

"It's about Commander R'Vok."

Kaleb had already discussed with them at length his event-filled shore leave.

"His death was rather unfortunate. Commander R'Vok was a fine officer." Tevek replied.

Recounting his and Alexander's conversation as accurately as possible, Kaleb did his best to just state the facts and not venture too far into conspiracy theorism, per Alexander's advice. "Since the _Vanguard _is departing tomorrow, we thought it was urgent to bring to your attention immediately."

Tevek did not reply. He set down his cup and moved to the viewport. A blanket of stars, intersected by an appendage of the station, filled the vista.

"Internal affairs of Starfleet security are not our business, Lieutenant. No matter what you feel about the situation. All three of us have served with R'Vok; he was good man," Tal said firmly, "his death is a tragedy, yes, but military casualties do happen. Let's not be dramatic or sensational."

Difficult as it was, Kaleb remained silent.

Finally, after several minutes, Tevek spoke, "I reviewed your file before you arrived, and I spoke with several of your superiors. Logical is not a word that was used to describe you. Dramatic was," the Captain paused and turned to face them, "However, dishonest was not used. Not once."

Kaleb relaxed; silently, he was thankful.

"As a member of this crew, we, as your superior officers, should have been immediately notified that you had been detained as a suspect for heinous crimes. We were not."

Tal stood and began pacing. "I was able to get my hands on many of the records from your little incident. The captain and I have reviewed them."

"You are correct; protocol was ignored today." Tevek continued, "Certain security records were eliminated. Given both your and Commander Erikssen's accounts, Commander R'Vok was certainly acting out of character."

"There's enough bureaucracy red-taped around this to know that something's up," Tal added, "Bottom line, Lieutenant, stay out of it. We leave first thing tomorrow. That's it."

"But Commander, Captain," Kaleb argued, "shouldn't we do something."

"_We_ will, Lieutenant," Tevek replied, "You will do nothing. You are too closely associated to the events to go unnoticed if you begin investigating. You will do nothing. That is an order. Dismissed."

**

* * *

**

Admiral Charles Montgomery was an extraordinary man. Completely forgiving and understanding, he had no problem coming to Alexander's aide. He even offered good conversation while they waited for the Admiral's assistant to compile Alexander's padds. Much to Alexander's astonishment, Montgomery was quire familiar with his work and career.

When the aide had returned, Montgomery offered Alexander the use of his office for reviewing the holo-recording. The Admiral excused himself and wished them both a wonderful evening. Miria informed him she would return when he was finished, she wanted to speak with someone about her missing fiancé. So here Alexander found himself in yet another illustrious office, only sans the Admiral this time. He uploaded the optronic data file to the workstation and settled into Montgomery's very comfortable chair.

"Computer, begin."

"Unable to Comply."

Glancing around to be sure no one was present, he gave the side of the console a good swat. There was an affirmative chirp.

Alexander immediately spied Miria on the far right of the screen. A skittish middle-aged lieutenant – Alexander instantly recognized him as Reg Barclay from _Pathfinder_ - stood and went to the microphone.

"Please Welcome Admiral Owen Paris."

The crowd stood and offered applause as a man with a cul-de-sac of grey hair approached the lectern. He was stout and had a commanding presence. Alexander had met him once during his brief stint at _Pathfinder_.

"Please, be seated," Admiral Paris requested, "Thank you. Let's begin.

"Five years ago, on Stardate 48307.5 the _USS Voyager_ was lost in an area of space known as the Badlands. They were on a mission pursuing a rebel Maquis vessel. Well over two years ago, _Voyager_ was officially declared lost.

"However, earlier last year we received word from the _Voyager _crew that they are in fact alive and well. They've been lost in the Delta Quadrant – over 70,000 light-years from home – for the last five years, but have been steadily making the long journey home."

None of this was news to Alexander: he was quite familiar with Voyager as were most people in the Federation. They were a bit of a living legend. He also knew Admiral Paris's son, a lieutenant – and a former convict, he heard – by the name of Tom Paris, was aboard. Alexander's heart went out to the Admiral.

"On Stardate 51462, Captain Janeway was able transmit an optronic data stream through an alien sensor network to one of our experimental deep space vessels, the _Prometheus_. When the transmission reached us, it contained a surprise: an emergency medical hologram – known to his shipmates as "The Doctor" – with news that _Voyager_ was still out there. From him we were able to learn what became of _Voyager_; he gave us one hell of an away mission debriefing.

"Upon the discovery, Starfleet developed _Project: Pathfinder_. I have been overseeing this project since its creation and it has faired exceptionally well. Commander Peter Harkins has been running _Pathfinder _for me. Commander?"

The admiral stepped aside to welcome the squat, balding, yellow-clad office. Briefly his former commanding officer, Alexander remembered him as a decent man.

"When we transmitted the EMH back to _Voyager_, we sent him with one singularly important message, 'You're no longer, alone,'" Harkins stated. "That a promise's we've fought hard to keep. It was rough going for a while, but, a few months ago, we had a real break through. Audio contact was made, through the genius of one our own, Lt. Reginald Barclay," he paused and nodded to the man who had first introduced Admiral Paris.

Reg bashfully nodded and waved the attention away. Alexander smiled affectionately, missing his former colleague. "All the relevant specifics on _Pathfinder_ and _Voyager _have been made available to you in your briefing materials. But what's important is that we've been able to provide them with letters from home, tactical data, and other helpful information. We've received from them sensor data, ship and crew logs, as well as tactical and technical updates.

"We know_ Voyager's_ trajectory and have a decent idea of their position. We're working on a more stable means of communication, but there's not much we can do for them from here. They're still out there, alone. With this in mind, Starfleet has created the _Companion_ mission."

Alexander wondered how much longer this introduction would continue. He was hopeful the real meat would follow as Harkins returned the floor to Admiral Paris.

"_Pathfinder_ will continue to function as is. Working on ways to bring _Voyager _home, help chart a better course, develop a faster means of propulsion, be their lighthouse, anything to help bring them home, but in the mean time there is something else we can do."

Admiral Paris placed his hands on both sides of the lectern and with a stone face; he seemed to be looking into the eyes of every person in the room. "We are going to go to _Voyager_ and we are bringing them home."

* * *

Kaleb had hoped he could have at least said goodbye to Alexander before departing. Now, he was strictly confined to the ship. Leaving would mean disobeying a direct order from the Captain. That would mean a formal reprimand, loss of privileges, possible Brig time, and, at the very least, being confined to quarters for a short while.

_Not a chance…_

Kaleb settled into his desk and activated the LCARS display. Accessing his personal log, there was a gap of nearly a week. _I've really got to do better with this. At least for once I've got something worth entering. _He started a new entry.

"Computer, begin log," he commanded, "Lieutenant Kaleb Vance, personal log, stardate five three-three six eight point nine five."

From the darkness, a drowsy grumble signaled his bunkmate's annoyance.

"Computer, pause."

Kaleb preferred recording his log aloud, but he didn't want to wake Tamrin. Repositioning himself, he tried to block the light with his sturdy frame so it would not bother Tamrin as much, and continued his log, entering it manually. Once finished, Kaleb thought about filling in the missing dates, but quickly grew bored. Looking over his shoulder to see if Tamrin was asleep, Kaleb proceeded to record a message.

"Hey, Alex. It's me. Sorry, I didn't say bye, but Cap'n won't let me leave the ship. I filled them in, and they believe me. They told me to stay out of it and they'd take care of it, whatever that means. I don't know where you're being assigned to, so I don't know if you'll receive this soon. I'm sending this to DS9 hoping you'll check your mail before you leave.

"If you can, please check this out for me. Do a little digging. Anything. Thanks friend, I will talk to you in a few months. Kaleb out."

Kaleb was about to send it, but then changed his mind. He laid some heavy encryptions on it and then sent the message using Tamrin's security ID. He then forwarded a copy of the message, with his daily log attached, to another friend.

Still not satisfied, Kaleb logged out and was about to climb into bed. His curiosity and sense of duty got the best of him. He changed into civilian clothes, but left his commbadge on his bedside table. Piling blankets, clothes, and his uniform under his large non-standard issue comforter, he crafted a Kaleb-decoy. With his personal tricorder in hand, Kaleb hurried quietly out of his quarters.

* * *

A murmur rose from the crowd.

Alexander could hardly believe his ears. While the crew had been fortunate to find various shortcuts that allowed them to take many years off their trip, _Voyager_ was still at least thirty-five to forty thousand light-years from home. It would take years – decades even – to reach them.

"The USS _Companion,_" Paris gestured with a flourish at the display above him, "the newest, most advanced ship in the fleet. Completely top-secret. So classified, that until a few weeks ago, there were fewer people outside this room than there are in it now even aware of it."

It was beautiful. Possibly the most beautiful starship Alexander had ever laid eyes on.

_I think I'm in love…_

"_Pathfinder_-class: 35 Decks, capacity of 850, sustainable cruising speed of Warp 9.987 and a whole slew of other details I won't needlessly bore you with. Without any further adieu, let's get this briefing rolling. I'd like to introduce to you the leader of the _Companion _mission and captain of the _Companion_, Fleet Commodore Admiral Charles Montgomery."

_Fleet Commodore_? _Hmm…_

There was thunderous applause as this crowd favorite stood to address them. Alexander was quite pleased to see this and silently shared in their admiration, yet sitting comfortably in the man's chair. The irony was not lost on him. Montgomery was one of the most decorated and highly respected Admirals alive. Though, he had not captained a ship for more than fifteen years.

"Thank you, please be seated," Montgomery said, his voice strong and kind, "I'll be brief. This is one of the highest honors I've ever received. I'm very grateful and humbled. Our mission is as this: to travel to _Voyager_ and journey home with her. Sounds simple enough, ignoring the time frame. How do we do this? That's where it gets complicated. We've got ourselves a shiny new ship that's not much faster than anything else in the fleet. It would still take us fifteen years on the short side to reach them: thirty years round-trip.

"Here's the plan: the _Achilles,_ _Gallant_, and _Barcelona_, along with the _Companion, _will comprise our small fleet. We will be accompanied by an escort of three other ships led by the _Vanguard; _together, we'll travel through the Bajoran Wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant. Once there we will navigate our way through Dominion Territory. "

There were murmurs at this as well.

"Our peace is shaky with the Dominion at this time, but we have obtained permission to travel through their space. Once through Dominion territory, our _Vanguard-_led escort will leave us and return to the Alpha Quadrant through the wormhole. Their journey will take about two months, ours will have just begun."

Using the display, the Admiral began briefly outlining the charted course of the _Companion_ Fleet from Dominion Territory to _Voyager_. It was long and tedious, filled with "we hopes" "ifs" and "maybes". Scouts had revealed several wormholes, interspatial flexures, and quantum singularities, zigzagging back and forth across the Gamma Quadrant. _Companion _was somehow going to use them to reach the Delta Quadrant. A few allies had somehow been made already. The 'how' in that was a mystery to Alexander. _Companion_ also possessed some experimental propulsion technology that may or may not work.

Checking the time index, he noted there was over thirty minutes left in the briefing. Alexander let out a sigh. It was getting very late. He paused the holo-recording. Rifling through the various padds, the Lt. Commander found his personal assignment. It was rather lengthy, but quite a relief to have the shroud of secrecy lifted. Alexander breathed a sigh of relief when he read that he was among those who would be home in a few months.

_ Well that's good news, _he thought, _no years of gallivanting across the far side of the galaxy for me._

He had been temporarily posted aboard the _Companion _for the duration of their voyage from DS9 through Dominion-occupied space. He would function as the Junior Operations Officer, but was specifically placed onboard for his involvement with the design of new classes of starships. Several of the design elements, including the _Yellowstone-_class runabout, were Alexander's personal handy work. As a member of the systems ops department, his job would be to monitor the ships experimental systems and make sure everything ran smoothly before the real excursion began. He would then transfer to the_ Vanguard _to be ferried back to DS9 to continue his previous assignment.

"Sounds simple enough," he muttered, quite pleased, as he resumed viewing the briefing.

Alexander continued watching the briefing though it bore little relevance to him at this point. His mind wandered and he found himself grateful he'd be on the same ship as Kaleb for about a month. They had not been stationed together in a long while.

_I doubt he even knows where we're going._

* * *

Day or night, Deep Space Nine was a bustling hub of activity. The _Vanguard _was fortunately docked at one of the busier ports. It was quite easy for Kaleb to circumvent the security of his ship in order to escape undetected. Getting back should not pose much of a problem either.

The young lieutenant kept his head down, and tried to hunch his posture. Starfleet mixed with his own natural predisposition causing confidence to ooze from his pores, though usually heavily mixed with sarcasm. Kaleb tried to blend in without looking sneaky.  
_I'm so gonna get court-martialed._

Avoiding main thoroughfares, he worked his way away from the civilian and commerce sectors and sneaked into an auxiliary security station. It was a simple room, unoccupied, with surveillance displays and a few chairs. There was another door that Kaleb bet lead to an office.

It was locked.

This confirmed his suspicion. He decrypted the security codes and then used his personally modified tricorder to jam the alarm. Fortunately, this room too was unoccupied. He sealed the door behind him and re-encrypted the lock and alarm. Once the internal sensors were disabled, he got to work. Hacking was not Kaleb's forte, but he was determined and reasonably skilled. Making sure he was cautious and left no trail was key to success. He pulled up the files from the interrogation, the coroner's report, and the station's security chief's log.

_Nothing of interest_.

Kaleb then tried the security records from the Brig as well as the station's internal sensor logs. He confirmed that there was no record of a firefight, a distress call from Alexander, or the unauthorized transport of five fugitives.

_This isn't working_. _I have to get creative. Maybe I'll have more luck in the Brig._

Kaleb covered his tracks and logged out of the system. There was a Jeffries tube access hatch in the rear of the office. He considered using it to reach the Brig. He was about to bypass the lockout on the hatch, when the familiar tinkling sound of a transport in progress filled the room.

Spinning around, Kaleb found himself face to face with two of the escapees, one being very familiar. 'Maury Korbette,' as R'Vok referred to him, held a large compression rifle, the other, a hand-held energy weapon. The lieutenant raised his hands above his head. Instead of firing, 'Korbette' struck Kaleb at the base of his skull with the butt of the rifle. He crumpled.

"We got him. Get us outta here."

Kaleb felt the tingling of demolecularization as he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

[_Are you done yet?_] Miria telepathed in a playful whine; the door _whooshed _as it opened.

Alexander smiled as she entered and a yawn escaped, so he shook his head in response. "24 minutes left."

"Really? I didn't realize it was such a lengthy briefing."

"Your speech was certainly eloquent, Ambassador Miria Memlilia, Federation Liaison to the Gamma Quadrant," he teased. "Looks like we'll be seeing a lot of each other: I'm on the _Companion_ and the _Vanguard _with you."

"That is fantastic!" She exclaimed. "But, listen, I need to be going."

"I'll go with you," Alexander stated as he closed the display and gathered his things. "I promised you I would help you look. You held up your end of the deal, now it's my turn."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely," he assured her, "I've already watched all I need to; it's not as though I'm staying in the Gamma Quadrant. I can finish it later, and read the rest of these over breakfast."

Relief and gratefulness washed over her. [_Thank you._]

"So, who's the lucky guy?" he asked as they left the office.

"Oh! My goodness, I never even told you," Miria remarked, "I thought you knew? I was sure you'd received my announcement. I sent them to everyone."

"No, never got one. I have moved around a lot lately." He waited for her answer. "So…"

"It's DaKen. He and I were together the last time you saw me," Miria claimed.

Alexander nodded as his memory cleared, "Right, I do remember that, but I thought you broke it off with him forever ago."

"No," she chuckled, stepping into the corridor, "not likely. Come on, let's go."

Miria sensed Alexander's emotions suddenly change. Dread. Disbelief. Deep concern. She turned to face him again, "Alex?"

"You said DaKen? Manhattan DaKen?"

She nodded.

"The guy from the…oh no," he breathed.

"Alex, you're scaring me."

"I know where he is," Alexander said softly, "or rather, where he isn't. DaKen and four others beamed off the station this afternoon."


	8. II: The Needs of the Few 1

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

II: The Needs of the Few

ONE

The view from this particular corridor was the best, in Alexander's opinion. The passageway was a long curve, and had a continuous, expansive viewport that was quite tall. It was a fantastic vantage point of any incoming vessels. There was little foot traffic this time of morning and the low lighting gave a pleasant ambience.

With elbows propped on the ledge and chin resting on folded hands, Alexander gazed into the canvas of starlight. He surprised himself, being able to stay awake so long without desperately craving his pillow; he was quite alert in fact. Sleep had been forgone before – working doubles, burning the midnight oil on projects, a few rough hostile situations, all-nighters cramming at the academy, or staying out until dawn with friends or girls in his youth – but never with so little activity.  
Once Alexander had delivered a very distraught Ambassador Memlilia to her quarters, finished reading through his briefing materials, and reviewing the holo-recording, there was sufficient time to squeeze in a few hours rest. However, there was something Alexander found he simply could not resist.

Usually against the "I'll sleep when I'm dead" motto, it now seemed appropriate to adopt. The _Companion _was scheduled to arrive at approximately 0-4 hundred hours. While the schematics were definitely worth poring over, they left something to be desired. Holo-images and specifications just did not compare to the real thing. Alexander had to see it with his own eyes before boarding.

So, there he was waiting patiently.

Fatigue was finally beginning to set in. The starscape was so peaceful, the faint, ever-present hum of the station, quite soothing, and the warm sun on his face, extremely relaxing. _Hold on, _he thought,_ Sunshine?_

He gasped as he jerked awake. Alexander rubbed his eyes, realizing he had momentarily nodded off. "So much for feeling alert," he muttered to himself.

A reward to his patience, he saw a twinkle in the distance and then several ships emerge from subspace and stretch into view. A magnificent starship flanked by four escorts – two _Akira_-class and two _Defiant_-class – approached the station.

"The _Companion,"_ he whispered, and let out a low whistle of admiration. "She's a beauty."

The colossal _Pathfinder_-class starship dwarfed its attendants. It was roughly the size of a _Galaxy_-class, but the saucer section had been streamlined and was more substantial. Reminiscent of the _Sovereign_-class in its overall structure: there was a regal air to its stately design. One of Alexander's favorite features was clearly duplicated from the new _Prometheus_ line: four warp nacelles; the glowing engine segments seemed to stretch on forever.

Capable, quick, fortified, and formidable: it was obvious the hasty design was a hodgepodge of several great predecessors. Considering the urgency, Alexander attributed that the best form of flattery had always been imitation.

_Besides,_ he thought, dismissing any criticism, _it just looks cool._

* * *

"It's obvious they want to remain below sensors for as long as possible, otherwise they would have resorted to open displays and acts of terrorism long ago. If they get scared, it may come to that. And that's something we can't let happen."

"Understood, Admiral. It's being taken care of." He said and the screen went dark.

_What are you up to?_ He wondered as he slipped back into the Starfleet Uniform. The normally bare office was piled with several bags and cargo cases all tagged for pickup and delivery. One was propped open on the desk. Leaning close, so that his head was almost inside, there was brilliant blue flash followed by short red pulses.

Quickly glancing over at his computer, he could see a dull reflection. Satisfied that the device had worked properly, he closed the case and tossed it with the others. Picking up a briefcase, he emptied the contents of the desk into it. He did a quick once over, spying to see if he had missed anything. Absently, he brushed a temporary nameplate that read "Commander Nathan Torrence" into a waste receptacle.

With briefcase in hand, he instructed the computer to shut off the lights and seal the room. Stepping out the door, he waited until it closed before continuing. He plastered on a fake smile and hurried quickly down the corridor. Rounding a corner, a young man wearing a disheveled academy uniform ploughed into him.

"Watch where you're going," he spat at the youth.

"S-sorry, s-s-sir," he managed timidly; he reeked of smoke and synthehol. Jerking the boy to his feet, he brushed past and hastened toward the lift.

_I'm going to find you, _He silently told his prey.

* * *

The beautiful Lieutenant had arranged small accommodations for them for the night. If only Koday could remember where they were. It did not help that Koday was drunker than he had ever been in his entire life: which, before tonight, was never. Stumbling from a turbolift, he desperately hoped this was the right level. Gedran had abandoned him hours earlier after wasting most of his traveling credits at the Dabo tables.

His gait faltered as he lumbered onward. Rounding a corner, Koday's face met a shoulder, and then his backside, the floor. Squinting, he saw an officer towering over him.

"Watch where you're going!"

Mortified, Koday managed a slurred apology before being gruffly hoisted back to his feet. The man was gone again before Koday realized what had happened. Meandering down the corridor again, he very badly wanted to find his room. He was sure this was the right floor because there were only two doors and a viewport ran the length opposite those doors.

The first door was locked. He punched in a code, which took several tries.

"**This door has been sealed. Access Denied.**"

He called for Gedran to let him in, banging unapologetically. After an indistinct amount of time, Koday realized it might be the wrong room so he moved to the next.

"Gedran, wake up!" Koday called, his body splayed across the door. His half limp fist smacked against the door repeatedly. "Ged-Gedwan!"

The door suddenly _swished_ apart and Koday toppled through. He blinked astounded as he saw not Gedran, but three brawny, rough looking men who jumped to their feet in equal shock. Koday saw another man lying unconscious, bleeding from the base of his skull.

"I think I have the wrong room," he sputtered as the doors slid shut behind him.

* * *

"Stupid," Miria spat, "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

The ambassador stood over her luggage. It was Starfleet issue, and far too small for her liking. Normally the example of impeccably pristine and immaculate, Miria was quite disheveled this morning. Instead of neat folds, military corners, and efficient use of space, her belongings had been haphazardly shoved in. The lid almost closed, save for the mass of fabric bulging from the edges.

Frustrated, she slammed her fist down on the lid, which turned out to be a very bad idea.

"Ow!"

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and stained her face anew. She slumped onto the side of the bed, and buried her face in her hands. Tears streaming down her face, Miria could hardly stifle her sobs. Several minutes lapsed before she could regain composure.

Once the fit had ebbed, Miria stood and went into the bathroom. She got herself a drink of water and washed her face. Looking into the mirror, she was quite startled. Her platinum locks were a frizzy, tangled mess and her eyes were blood shot from a sleepless night of lamenting. The cycle of sobbing, raging, and worrying, followed by ranting, stress-eating, and cleaning, and then by packing and plotting punishment had been going on for several hours now. At times, Miria hated being Betazoid: being naturally predispositioned to be highly sensitive and emotional was often too much to handle, and unfair in her opinion.

A glint of light caught her eye. It was her engagement ring. Anger filled her to the brim; Miria yanked off the band and flung it aimlessly away. Immediately regretful, she leaped after it. On her hands and knees, she frantically searched for her lost token. Ransacking her temporary quarters, the woeful woman finally spied the ring beneath the bed. Clutching it close, Miria breathed a sigh of relief and then crumpled to the floor, deeply conflicted.

_Imzadi.  
_

Miria awoke some time later to the mixed sound of the door chiming and being banged upon. Quickly gathering her bearings, she hurried to the mirror. To her dismay, her appearance was worse than before. The diminutive slumber on the floor had matted her curls into frightful tangles. Her eyes were still bloodshot and her complexion was quite peeked.

"Miria, I know you're in there. Open up!" Alexander's voice called over the comm.  
"Enter!" she barked.  
The door _whooshed_ open. Her harbinger of bad news rushed in and then stopped short.

"Mems, what happened in here?" Alexander inquired, hushed in disbelief.  
"I'm packing," Miria retorted matter-o-fact-ly, not bothering to turn her attention away from the mirror. She was futilely attempting to pull a brush through her mane.  
"Okay," he said, backing off, "you wanna talk about it?"

[_Humph_]  
"Alright," he conceded, "guess not." Alexander was silent and began tidying up the disarray, picking things up, straightening the bedding, up-righting chairs and tables, etc. Placing the travel case on the desk, he tucked in the extruding items and latched it shut.

"Anything I can do for you?" her long time friend asked gently.

Miria snapped her head toward him. She shot him a dirty look, returning to the mirror and her tangled mess. "What, like 'talk about it?'" she replied facetiously. When she heard no verbal response, Miria looked at him. Alexander stood, his arms crossed and eyebrows raised expectantly, waiting patiently. "Talk about what?" she laid the attitude on thick, "Why it's a mess in here or why I'm a mess?"

"Well," he said, treading carefully, "I have a pretty good idea why, but I'm gonna go with the latter."

"You mean how I'm a wreck. And how today is the _biggest_ day in my career thus far, and how my fiancé – whom I'm supposed to know _so_ well – is a _fugitive_ with a myriad of criminal charges ranging from public disturbance and assault, to resisting arrest and sabotage, to insurrection and _murder_!" Miria was shouting by the end of her rant. Her brush had become lodged in her hair and she was now exasperated trying to free it.

Alexander moved across the room and took the brush handle from her. Carefully, he slid it from her hair and set it on the basin. He guided a now deflated Miria to the other room and sat her on the edge of the bed.

"Listen to me, Mems," Alexander told her, his voice low and warm, "You are going to get through this. You are resilient, you are strong, and you deserve better than him."

"But he's my _Imzadi_," she whispered.

"Shh, I know. I'm sorry all this happened, and I'm sorry I had to bring the bad news, but don't let him destroy your career too. Think of everything you've worked so hard to achieve. Today's a big day; don't let him take this from you too. There'll be plenty of time for …"

"For chocolate?" she suggested, a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.  
Alexander grinned and nodded.

* * *

"Welcome aboard_, _Commander Erikssen."

Alexander stepped down from the transporter pad.

"Admiral Montgomery," Alexander said, surprise seeping into his voice, "Thank you, sir. It's a pleasure to see you, Admiral. I was hardly expecting such a prestigious welcoming party."

"Oh, stop it. I like to greet all my special guests personally," the Admiral replied, his smile and kindly blue eyes warm. "This is Lt. Drake. He'll be giving you the grand tour."

Alexander was quite surprised to be called a special guest by such a venerated officer. The Lieutenant gave him a very formal salute, his posture stiff, "Sir."  
Alexander returned the salute, "I'm looking forward to it."

"Sir, glad to hear it, sir," Drake responded rigidly, his adherence to protocol unwavering.

Alexander fought back a smile.

"On second thought, show 'em to his quarters first, Drake. There'll be plenty-a time for a tour later," Montgomery suggested, "looks like he could use some rest. Had an eventful day yesterday, didn't we?"

"Aye, aye, Admiral," the lieutenant replied, stiff as ever.

"Yes, sir," Alexander agreed emphatically with a smile, "we did. Thank you for asking, sir." He was very much enjoying Montgomery's attention and consideration.

"Whenever you're ready for that tour, just give Drake here a buzz. Or if there'd be something else you'd need, he's your man," Montgomery told him, "And if you need _anything_ at all, you let me know."

"Wow, thanks, sir," Alexander was taken back at the gesture, "I appreciate it very much. Thank you, Admiral."

"Not at all," he replied, "glad to have ya on the team."

"I'm glad to be here, sir."

"Our launch's been delayed a little. Just make sure you're on the Bridge by fifteen hundred. Wouldn't wanna miss the big start. Dismissed," he said with a smirk and a wink, gesturing his head toward the door.

Alexander was astounded by the welcome. He was sure his feet were floating above the gravity plating as he followed Lt. Drake towards his new quarters. It had never even crossed his mind that he would be more than just another member of the crew while on board. Even if he really was not, Alexander certainly felt like a special guest. Still basking, his surroundings were not lost on him. The ship was impressive and he could not wait to see it all.

"Mr. Drake?"

"Sir."

"I'd like to take that tour now, if that's alright. We can drop off my stuff and then get going." Alexander suggested.

"Yes, sir."

Alexander pondered how he might get the uptight lieutenant to relax a little. The officer's strict adherence to formality made for an awkward situation. Lieutenant Drake was officially the first crewmember he had met and the last thing Alexander wanted was to appear pretentious and aloof. After a silent stroll through several sections and a turbolift ride a few decks up, they arrived at Alexander's new temporary quarters. Drake entered a code and the door opened. He stood at attention while Alexander went in.  
"You could come in," Alexander offered, "I'll only be a minute."

"Yes, sir," Drake said, stepping inside and resumed his pose flanking the entryway.

"Uh, at ease lieutenant," Alexander told him, setting his belongings down. Drake altered his stance, but did not relax one iota. Turning away, Alexander rolled his eyes, amused, and then surveyed his new home. It was a luxurious suite, spacious and comfortable.

Comprised of four chambers, Alexander was extremely pleased with the layout and the décor. The living quarters contained a dining and seating area; adjacent was a small office complete with a large desktop display perfect for designing. Beyond the living quarters was a roomy sleeping area with a great view. The lavatory – which included a sonic shower and a tub - was connected to bedroom and office.

_Nice digs_.

"Alright, Lieutenant, let's get a move on." As he walked past the desk, a blinking light on the console caught his attention. "Sorry, just a moment, looks like I've got mail already." Sitting at his new desk, Alexander activated his workstation. He found a video message, but he did not recognize the sender, an Ensign Tamrin. He excused Drake to watch in privacy. "Computer, play message."

The recording was rather short and uninformative.

"Kaleb," he affectionately said aloud to no one. He entered a reminder in his log to contact his friend aboard the _Vanguard _once their convoy had crossed into the Gamma Quadrant.


	9. II: The Needs of the Few 2

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

II: The Needs of the Few

TWO

"Welcome to the _Companion _Folks," Montgomery said, taking his seat.

The fifteen Admirals, Captains, and First Officers of the fleet's seven ships were gathered in the Officer's Lounge on board the _Companion_. As the Federation Council's official representative, Miria was also present. She felt slightly out of place among the gathering of seasoned chiefs. Sitting at Montgomery's right hand, she also felt her awkward incongruence was obvious to all. At scarcely thirty years of age, Miria was without question the youngest at the table. Many of those present were legends.

Montgomery's First Officer, Vice-Admiral Grakken, sat to his left. He was an eldery Andorian, rumored to be well over a century old; though, his bluish color was still vibrant. To Grakken's left, was a dark-skinned woman. Miria presumed her to be the ship's number two in command, Captain Aisha Morgan; she thought Morgan rather stunning.

She personally recognized D'Landrii, captain of the _Achilles_, Captain Tevek of _Vanguard,_ Commander Benson, _Deterrence_'s first officer, whom she briefly served with aboard the _Exeter__, _and Lt. Commander Baltezaad of the _Barcelona_.Having read over each ship's crew manifest, and possessing an eidetic memory, Miria knew all the names, she just was not sure of the faces they belonged to. Though, if she had to guess, she would probably get it right on the first try.

A young officer by the name of Lieutenant Drake stood before an impressive viewscreen and gave a dry, lengthy update on everything Miria possibly thought could be covered and even more she had not thought of.

"…one of our preliminary priorities," Drake was saying, "will be to facilitate the peace accord with the Dominion. The _Vanguard_ will continue this on its return flight. Ambassador Memlilia will be the front-runner in all peace talks, negotiations, and treaty discussions."

Miria smiled and acknowledge the assembly with a nod. Drake's elocutions stretched on beyond the point of fairness or relevance. She felt a nudge. In her peripherals, she saw Montgomery tap his ear and then his temple. It was a subtle gesture, but very precise. Carefully, Miria ventured to read his mind.

[_Admiral_?]

_If this doesn't end soon, I may be forced to fake a medical emergency or stage a mutiny. This guy really knows how to droll on, _he was projecting his thoughts so she could hear him, _somehow, he landed the position as my assistant or some nonsense. We'll see how long that lasts._

Miria let a giggle slip loose. Drake's head snapped toward her, eyes raging, as did Morgan's. Miria stared at her lap and waited until she knew the unwelcome attention ceased.When Drake had finally concluded another half an hour later, and all the others had finished their questions and comments. Captain Tevek stood up.

"If there is nothing further, Commodore," he said, his voice calm, "I would like to bring an urgent matter of some importance to the attention of this gathering regarding an incident that occurred aboard Deep Space Nine yesterday afternoon."

_Finally, _she deemed_, something interesting._

Miria was intrigued, though hardly concerned with what Tevek presented. She had little worries that the matter not would be taken care of swiftly. The leadership was more than capable.

The room cleared quickly when Montgomery dismissed them and Miria was nearly in the hallway when Montgomery called after her. Only Lieutenant Drake remained, but a nod from the Admiral sent him scurrying. She joined Montgomery at the large conference table. He covered one of her hands with his.

"How are you?" he asked sincerely. "I heard about your fiancé."

Miria sputtered, unprepared for the question.

"If you need time off, it's yours to take."

"No," she insisted, shaking her head, "What I need right now, is to work. I need this."

"Well, in that case. There's something else I'd like to ask."

Puzzled, she offered a blank stare.

"I know it was out of the question before," he said carefully, "but I…_we_ could really use someone with your skills on this trip. When _Vanguard _heads home, _I_ want you stay."

Without hesitating, Miria nodded acceptance.

"I don't want you to answer right now. It's a big decision. You've still got a month–"

"Yes," she interrupted. "Okay."

* * *

"Well, Commander, you had a chance to familiarize yourself with our humble little dinghy?" asked the Chief Engineer, Rhett Reynolds. Alexander was in Main Engineering, on his tour, "I hear you're quite the expert on starship design."

"I like to tinker, I suppose," Alexander said, "warp field theory and hull geometry, that kinda stuff. Nothing too complicated."

"Right, those warp fields are simple as pie," he replied, laughing heartily. "Well, let's hear it. Let's see what you got. Here's your test, and I'm your teacher."

"The USS _Companion_:" Alexander began reciting a brief synopses of what he reviewed, "experimental deep-space long-range recovery and diplomacy vessel, _Pathfinder_-class, registry number NX-77811, 35-decks, crew-compliment: 857. Defensive systems include ablative hull-armor and regenerative shielding, armed with six MK 95 Direct-Fire Torpedo Tubes with a surplus compliment of photon and quantum torpedoes in addition to the thirteen type XIII Collimated Optronic Phaser Arrays, and equipped with four warp nacelles and a tetryon-plasma warp reactor with a maximum cruising speed of Warp 9.987."

"Not bad," Reynolds remarked. "Hey, hold on! Aren't you the one who came up with that tetryon-plasma idea? A little hot-tempered, but one heck of an engine. Hear we got the design from those new class of runabouts. They yours too?"

Alexander dropped his head bashfully and nodded. "Right on both counts."

Reynolds gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, "Aw that's cute. Yer blushin."

Alexander turned and starred up at the towering column of churning purple and white. He supposed it was to be human – or at least male – to be enamored by all things both lovely and deadly.

"You call me if she gives you any problems?" Alexander said after a few minutes.

"Top of the list," Reynolds told him as came to stand by his side, staring adoringly at the core. "Say, tell me again will you? Why is it so particularly important that we keep her shut down while were in the wormhole? What make her so different?"

"A warp field in a wormhole is a bad idea any day of the week," Alexander scoffed and Reynolds nodded in agreement. "It's the tetryons. They're bad news; I was skeptical in even trying out the idea at all. I never thought it'd work. It leaks a lot of particles; they'd be like…water in a paper pipe. It'd just dissolve. More like acid really.

"Add the warp field to that and it would be," Alexander paused, "like one of those ancient wooden sailing ships, except it's got a big ol' combustion engine strapped to it. Someone drops anchor, accelerates to max, and throws the sails up, all while in a stone tunnel crumbling around their ears."

"That's what it'd be like?" Reynolds asked dubiously with a chuckle. "Sounds like a formula for toothpicks and death."

"Exactly," Alexander agreed, laughing morosely.

* * *

Miria stepped into the turbolift. As the door was closing, she was joined by another officer. She recognized him as Commander Antony Benedetto, the helmsman. He flashed her a toothy smile as he entered. He was a fairly attractive, middle-aged human male. She instantly disliked him.

"Deck One," she told the computer.

"Bridge," he commanded.

That perturbed Miria. She thought it very insolent of him to give the computer the same command she had just entered. Also, her empathic ability sensed that he was watching her, which was uncomfortable.

"I don't believe we've met, Commander," he finally spoke up.

"Ambassador," she corrected without turning to look at him, "Ambassador Memlilia."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ambassador. It's a pleasure. Name's Anton-"

"Commander Benedetto," she cut him off; Miria was hardly in the mood for flirtations.

"Oh, so you've heard of me," Benedetto joked.

_Of all the nerve…_

"I've familiarized myself with the crew manifest, especially the_ senior _officers," tersely retorted the annoyed diplomat. The silence following was highly awkward.

"So, where're you headed to, Ambass-"

"The Bridge," she answered, exasperated, "Admiral Montgomery has invited me to be present for our launch."

"I see," he said. "Well, you might be late if you're still planning on stopping by the storage bay on Deck 1."

_What was he going on about now_?

"Pardon me?"

"You told the Computer Deck 1." Benedetto replied. "Deck 1 is mostly storage, sensor grid access. The Bridge is on Deck 5."

_Idiot_, Miria mentally kicked herself.

"I know," she lied.

_Since when has the Bridge of a starship ever been anywhere but Deck 1?_

"Right, of course," Benedetto conceded, "forgive me. I just assumed that you must not have known about that change in _Companion_'s design. Most aren't aware of it yet. My mistake."

"It's fine, Commander. An honest oversight," Miria maintained.

The lift stopped and the door _whooshed_ open. _Companion_'s Bridge lay beyond. The rest of the Bridge crew were already assembled.

"Ambassador," Benedetto said with a nod as he exited the lift.

As the door shut, Miria slumped against the rear of the lift and groaned.

* * *

The _Gallant_ was a lean ship in comparison to what she was habituated with. Even in her short career, A'læ was always accustomed to the best Starfleet had to offer. Because of her name's sudden addition to the roster, there had been a short scare briefly after coming aboard that she may temporarily have to share quarters until ones could be appropriated for her. A'læ had not bunked with anyone since her first year of the academy. She was not about to now.

Her meeting earlier that morning with Vice Admiral Grakken proved amusing. He seemed completely baffled by her tranquil acquiescence to the sudden transfer from _Achilles_ to the _Gallant. _While she retained the position of Chief of Security and Tactical, it was an obvious demotion. His level of tact made it clear he expected an irate reaction. Instead, A'læ was diplomatic with simple responses asking a few questions about details of the assignment. Completely ignoring the pressing question "why?" the Vice Admiral seemed both relieved and astounded that she completely circumnavigated the subject. Her reception of the news elicited high praise – which was no doubt recorded in her file, her goal all along – from Grakken, as well as promises that she would be taken well care of and given special considerations. Thus, a much nicer private suite was now hers.

A'læ cringed at the thought of how it might have gone had she not previously known about the transfer. The truth was, A'læ was furious over the move. _Achilles _was a start-of-the-art warship – which she had been warned several times not to call it: Starfleet doesn't have warships – with many amenities and features no other vessels had. The _Gallant _was a sturdy and formidable little ship, its armaments the envy of most starships twice her size; its kind, the _Defiant _class, helped win the war.

_But it's not the Achilles._

A'læ sighed, squeezing the last of her things into the undersized wardrobe.

* * *

The Bridge was gorgeous. The finest Alexander had ever seen: clean lines, highly efficient, functional, comfortable, perfectly symmetrical, completely secure, but with a dramatic flare of style. Everything was certainly of Starfleet standards, nothing over-the-top or garish, but one knew upon entry that this was not just another run-of-the-mill, cookie cutter starship.

Alexander's favorite feature, although not completely aesthetic, was breathtaking. The entire forward section, the forward third of the side bulkheads, and roughly eighty percent of the arched ceiling – interrupted only by the support trusses – were designed to imitate a viewport.

_Looks like a glassless window to the stars…_

The Bridge, being safely nestled in the heart of _Companion_ – one of many prototype features aboard – had no physical view of the outside world. With no way for the Bridge crew to actually see the space they were traveling through, besides the obvious use of sensors and computers and excluding the extraordinarily sized view-screen hanging center stage, ostensibly, the ship designers thought it prudent to install a holographic display simulating in real-time the space around the ship.

When the view-screen was deactivated, it looked as though it was floating amidst a sea of stars. The viewer could also be synchronized with the artificial-starscape, creating an unspoiled panoramic scene. It reminded Alexander of being in a planetarium, or perhaps on a space walk. The projection was so seamless and realistic, that if one did not know better, one would think there were no bulkheads or ceiling at all. The Bridge seemed to jut right out into the stars.

Most of the senior officers were already assembled on the Bridge. Besides the Bridge crew, several others, including Alexander and Lt. Drake were present; Miria had not yet arrived. Montgomery would be arriving momentarily; he would undoubtedly be prepared for departure at precisely 15:00. Vice-Admiral Grakken was presently in the center chair and Captain Aisha Morgan was in her place to his left. Alexander had never served aboard a starship where the commanding officer held a rank higher than Captain. The Captain of a ship was a captain, his first officer a commander or lt. commander, and so on and so forth. Having so many ranking officers on board was indicative of the unusual nature of this mission.

There was a _hiss_ as the turbolift door opened, delivering Admiral Montgomery to his Bridge. The attention grabbing man paused as the doors slid shut, his hands folded behind his back. Lt. Drake lurched from his chair and snapped to attention.

"Captain on deck," he barked. Those seated at their stations immediately stood as well. The rest turned toward the Admiral. Grakken rose slowly and stepped aside to stand in front of his own chair. He and Montgomery exchange nods.

Stone-faced, the Admiral slowly navigated the hushed command center; he seemed to be scrutinizing each person as he passed. He and the second officer exchanged formalities – "Admiral," "Ms. Morgan," – as he stepped by her. After making a full sweep, Montgomery halted at the railing behind the command chairs. The tension was tangible. Gripping the railing, his stern face hardened into a fierce gaze.

"Oh for goodness sakes people," Montgomery exclaimed and guffawed, "at ease. Relax, would you? You are _all _going to make for a very boring trip if you keep this up."

Smiles broke out across the room, and his closest colleagues began to laugh. Morgan and Grakken shared a jovial exchange. Alexander let out a sigh of relief. Then, turbolift whooshed open again and Miria emerged.

"Nice of you to join us, Ambassador," he said, grinning. A Montgomery smile carried additional warmth whenever Miria was the recipient. It was clear, not only to Alexander but to everyone on deck, that she had unparalleled – though undoubtedly deserved - favor with the man.

"My sincerest apologies for my tardiness, Admiral," Miria replied earnestly, her face somber. He dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand; she beamed in response. With his hand affectionately, but respectfully, on her shoulder, Montgomery escorted the blonde down the ramp to the center of the Bridge. As they passed by the forward consoles – which contained the helm, tactical, and operations stations– the helmsman made a face at Miria that Alexander could not decipher.

"Take your stations," Montgomery ordered with facetious irritation, and then chortled at himself. It was clear that he found certain formalities trivial, if not laughable.

* * *

Moving away from Montgomery, Miria stood in the empty place next to Alexander.

"Lieutenant Commander," she greeted quietly, with false-formality.

"Ambassador," he returned, his lips puckered in a look of faux-disdain. She then heard him ask, just above a whisper, "What was that about? With the pilot."

[_I'll tell you later_,] she telepathed. His perplexed expression was comical.

"Oh, and just for your benefit of knowing," the Admiral was saying, "you can call me Cap'n, or Admiral. You can call me sir, or Commodore if you like, or your Fleet Captain Commodore-Highness, if that makes you happy," he said, glancing at Drake; there were a few sniggers, "I don't particularly care one way or the other, so long as it's not Monty."

The high level of anxiety among the crew she had felt since coming aboard was beginning to lift. Admiral's humor and light-heartedness was having an encouraging effect. He had a way of rallying those around him into a very positive place. His leadership was head and shoulders above any others and, what's more, he would never dream of abusing that power.

"And be a pal. Spread the word to your comrades on the junior staff. They're the ones I'm bound to scare off, shake up, or whatever anyhow.

"And Benedetto, you better believe I got my eye on you," Montgomery jested, "You watch yourself around the female officers, now. Ya hear? We haven't got ourselves a generational ship here."

The whole Bridge was now laughing.

"Aye, sir," he said, laughing at his own expense. Miria had an inkling to just how much truth in jest there really was.

The Admiral took his seat. Feeling the material of the chair's arms, he seemed to be trying it out as if for the first time. It was his first command in almost two decades. Once settled, he spoke. "Shall we get under way? Admiral."

Grakken nodded to his superior as he stood. Montgomery caught Miria's eye; he gestured for her to take Grakken's seat. Folding his hands behind his back, the well-decorated officer moved to the center dais. She could almost see the authority flood into the Andorian, and certainly felt it.

"Commander," he said, addressing the Ops Officer, "Let DS9 know were ready for departure. And hail the fleet."

"Aye, sir. Channel open," she replied coolly.

"This is Vice-Admiral Grakken to the fleet. We are preparing to launch. Your C.O. would like to make a formal address. Captains, please broadcast to your crews. Welcome, Fleet Commodore Admiral Charles Montgomery."

"Good afternoon," he began, "I'm not much for speeches, but I wanted to remind you of a singularly important piece of information: 152," he paused. The Bridge crew seemed puzzled. "That's the number of people aboard the USS_ Voyager, _cut off from home for over 5 years now. I once heard a Vulcan saying that goes 'the needs of the many out weigh the needs of the few.'

"Then _why_, you might ask, go so far with a fleet of so many – over twenty-five hundred crewmembers – only to help so few, and what hopes of success do we really have, you may wonder.

"This is an unparalleled opportunity to go beyond our home boarders and explore uncharted territory – isn't that what Starfleet does? – to solidify our peace with the Dominion, and bring security to our Federation – is the safety of our home not one of our primary purposes – and to fulfill the mantra, 'leave no one behind,' because every life is sacred.

"Our mission," he paused again, "to boldly go where only _one_ has gone before and guide them home. This is a magnificent fleet, crewed with Starfleet's finest, and I look forward to serving with you all. Helmsmen, move into formation and set a course for the Bajoran Wormhole: full impulse.

"Engage."


	10. II: The Needs of the Few 3

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

II: The Needs of the Few

THREE

Kaleb awoke to a horrible stench. He was lying face down on a hard surface; grit and grime along with something that reminded him of straw and other detritus covered the floor. The unmistakable feeling of a sedative lingered.

Raising up, Kaleb's backside met immediate resistance. There was less than a meter of clearance. The dim light revealed little, but he could see bars.

He was caged.

_Where am I?_

_

* * *

  
_

"Kelsa," Montgomery said, referring to the Ops Officer, "Get the _Vanguard _on the horn for me, would ya? I'd like to speak to Tevek for a minute."

"Of course, sir," the commander replied. Alexander paid close attention to anything she did or said. He would be reporting directly to her when working or participating in the Systems Operations department.

The stoic visage of the aging Vulcan Captain appeared on the viewscreen. "Greetings Commodore," he said, "how may I be of service?"

"Tevek, I just wanted to touch base with you before we crossed over. We're glad to have you, and the _Searchlight _and _Deterrence,_ along for the ride. Your escort is much appreciated."

"I am pleased that you are pleased," Tevek said.

"By the by, any word yet?" Montgomery inquired. "On the escaped fugitives from DS9?"

"No, Sir, there is nothing new to report on the situation," he replied simply.

"Alright," Montgomery drawled, as if stalling, "let's keep an eye out."

"Understood, sir," Tevek responded. "If that it is all, there is another matter I wish to address concerning yesterday's events."

"'course, what is it?"

"May I speak with Lt. Commander Erikssen in private?"

Montgomery looked over at Alexander with an inquisitive expression. He received several looks ranging from disdain to awe from the lower ranking officers. Miria's eyes bored into him, attempting to read his mind. Alexander was baffled.

"Why don't you take it in my ready room, son?" Montgomery suggested.

"Thank you, sir."

Stepping through the port-side doorway in the aft-section of the Bridge, Alexander entered the Commodore's lavish ready-room. It was even nicer than Montgomery's temporary office on Deep Space Nine. Taking a seat at his desk, Alexander activated the screen. A Bajoran female appeared; she was a commander in rank. He surprised, expecting Tevek instead.

"Commander Erikssen, I am Commander Tal Celesse, First Officer, starship _Vanguard_."

"Commander," he greeted with a smirk and a nod, mentally noting Kaleb was right about her level of attractiveness. "What can I do for you?"

"I'll cut to the chase," Commander Tal stated curtly, "Lt. Vance didn't show up for his shift this morning. We found Kaleb's commbadge in his quarters. He is nowhere on board, and he was given a direct order not to leave the ship. We contacted DS9, and no one on the station or _Vanguard_ has seen him since last night.

"Earlier today, a message was sent to you, Commander, allegedly by an Ensign Tamrin. Tamrin, Kaleb's bunkmate, denies sending it. It was traced to Kaleb. Do you know where he is?"

"Uh…no ma'am," Alexander stuttered, caught off guard, "Kaleb's missing?"

"Did you receive the transmission?"

"Yes, ma'am. And it was from Kaleb," Alexander answered. "He mentioned he was confined to the ship, and he asked me to investigate. I didn't receive the message until I was already on board _Companion_. That's all I know, Commander."

"Alright, Mr. Erikssen," Tal said, "we'll do what we can, but our hands are tied. He's not on board and we'll be in another quadrant tomorrow."

"Of course, Commander," he replied and then asked, "Ma'am? What's this all about? I mean I know Kaleb's a little rough around the edges but he's not one to disobey orders, especially not a direct order. And he'd _never_ jump ship. Kaleb was all set to be shipping out this morning."

"At this point, we're not questioning his character," Tal replied. "We're as worried for his well being as you are."

"Yes, of course," he agreed somberly. "Thank you, ma'am."

"And Alexander –"

"Yes?"

"Watch your back."

"Yes, ma'am."

The screen went dark. Alexander's brow furrowed and he bit his lip. He could hardly believe his friend was AWOL, or worse. Two officers dead, one missing, and DaKen and his co-conspirators were still absconded.

"Everything alright, son?"

Alexander jumped up, startled. "Sir, I didn't hear you come in."

"At ease," Montgomery told him, ambling to the viewport; this one was ostensibly artificial as well. He motioned for Alexander to join him. "Now, what seems to be the problem?

"Lieutenant Kaleb Vance is missing," he answered solemnly, "he's the officer that was with me yesterday afternoon during the incident in the Brig."

"I see," he said, "and this – Kaleb, you said his name was? – he's your friend."

Alexander nodded.

"Tell me what you know, Alexander," Montgomery requested. Alexander relayed the news from Commander Tal's communiqué, and told him of the interrogation and the conversations with Kaleb. The Admiral's face clouded, the proverbial wheels in his head turning. "You know, son, I've got the biggest hunch that somethin's up, more than what we can see," he finally said.

Alexander was silent, pondering.

"Captain to the Bridge, we've arrived in the Denorios Belt," Grakken's voice came over the comm, "we're holding position at the event-horizon of the wormhole."

"On my way," Montgomery reported, "Come on; we'll talk again. But first, let's get this show on the road."

Demurely, Alexander nodded and fell in step behind him.

"Son," the Admiral paused at the door, turning to face Alexander. He whispered, "a word from the wise: always trust your gut. And Tal's right, watch your back."

* * *

Hurrying down the corridor, the officer in green was already late. Several unexpected delays kept her from devoting her full attention to her duties and with the launch today, any shortcomings would not reflect well on her department. If she was correct, her destination would be at the end of the hall.

The turbolift opened and out stepped a stocky commander with strong features and a briefcase in his left hand. With out skipping a beat, she veered left, speed-walking as inconspicuously as possible in the wrong direction.

_What is he doing here?_

Glancing over her shoulder as she turned another corner, he was closing in quickly. Daring to draw attention, she franticly sprinted on, taking several more turns. Recognizing a storage maintenance access, she ducked inside. Futilely, she tried to quiet her heavy breathing as she flattened her petite frame against the bulkhead.

The doors _hissed_ open and she barely contained a gasp. Time dragged slowly on, but no one entered and the doors slid shut once more. Waiting a few more minutes, she gathered the courage to venture back outside. Standing before the exit, she reached over and pressed the button. As the door panels slid open, she let out a yelp before covering her mouth.

"Nightingale," he crooned, walking boldly forward and forcing her back into the chamber.

"Uh…Torrence," she stuttered, "what an unexpected pleasure to see you here."

"If I didn't know better, Nightingale," he said placing his hands on the door frames. "I'd think you were avoiding me."

Her eyes dance furtively, her mind racing for a plan, an idea, a word to say, anything.

"Silly me. Of course you wouldn't avoid me; you like meeting me alone in dark places."

"What do you want?" she managed, wringing her hands nervously.

"You're services are required."

"I fulfilled my part," she said stridently. "I'm done."

She tried to slide by him, but he would not budge. He brought his face very close to hers.

"I say when you're done."

Reaching into his briefcase, he retrieved a padd and hand it to her. She refused it and shook her head defiantly. He shrugged and conceded; stepping aside, he gestured that she could leave. Without pause, she quick-stepped into the corridor and hastened away.

"It'd be too bad," he called after her, but she continued. "If you were slated as an accomplice when it all goes south."

She stopped abruptly.

"Thought that might get your attention."

"You're bluffing," she answered back but without turning to look at him. Several crewmembers walked by, eyeing them suspiciously.

"Terrorism is a dreadful thing," he smugly said after a moment or two, "What _is_ the punishment for treason? I'd hate for you to lose that pretty little head of yours, not to sound cliché or anything."

She flustered. Then staunchly, she swung around and marched straight to him.

"You're despicable," she spat, snatching the padd he waggled next to his smirking face.

"I'm just doing my job. Make sure you do yours."

* * *

Finally scrunching himself up into a sitting position, Kaleb reclined against the stern of his enclosure, arms wrapped around knees. Three sides were barred, the rear: solid. From the vibration below and the ambient noise, Kaleb surmised he was aboard a starship, possibly a station, but most likely a ship.

The fetid stench of feces and rot was near overwhelming. Kaleb was definitely not this cell's first occupant. Several other cages surrounded his own, and each looked individual. There was at least two meters between each, so there was little hope of help from other prisoners. The other cages also looked empty, as far as Kaleb could tell. He could not hear anyone either.

Then, there were footsteps and a dark face appeared between the bars.

"Good morning, Starfleet," a familiar voice sneered.

Kaleb scoffed.

"I didn't figure you for the bright type," he said, "and I must admit, I was pretty surprised to find you sneaking around sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

"What do you want?"

A sharp pain jolted through Kaleb's body.

"Gaugh!" he cried out, as much from surprise as from pain. Kaleb was appalled and instantly furious. His captor had shocked him with some sort of hand-held torture device. A sadistic smile spread across the man's face.

"What the hell?!" Kaleb exclaimed, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt dried blood. Probably from the compression rifle he had been struck with, Kaleb assumed. Beaten, assaulted, battered, abducted, and confined; now electrical shock had been added to the list. Kaleb would like nothing more than to return the favor.

"A little more respect, please," he said emphatically, "we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Personally, I prefer the hard way; it's your choice, but you may not last very long."

"Alright, _Mr._ _Korbette_," Kaleb said sarcastically through clenched teeth, "_Good Morning_. How may I be of service?"

"That's better. But it's not Korbette. Your buddy _was_ right, but my name's irrelevant. All you need to know is that if you don't cooperate, you won't make it out of here alive."

Kaleb nodded.

"Who are you working for? Who sent you to break in?" he demanded.

"Go to hell."

This shock was worse. Pain racked him, but Kaleb resisted calling out or flailing about; he did not want to give his captor the satisfaction.

"I can do this all day," he told Kaleb in a sing-song voice.

When there was no response, the man changed the settings and delivered another jolt. Kaleb writhed in agony, involuntarily jerking and yelping. Tears bitterly streamed down his cheeks. Kaleb could taste blood mixed with singed flesh. A smoky odor pervaded his nostrils. He felt paralyzed, every centimeter of him aching. Silently, he begged for unconsciousness.

"I administered a neural suppressant while you were asleep," Kaleb's tormentor informed him, "the human body has a relatively high threshold for pain, but we have a natural fail-safe in place. Once a certain level is reached, ya pass out. _You_ no longer have that luxury."

_Bastard._

_"_Well?"

"I'm not telling you anything," Kaleb finally managed, "I saw your men murder Commander R'Vok; he was working with you as far as I could tell. Even if I do tell you what want to know, you most likely won't let me live anyway. So, you're gonna have to kill me."

"Brave words, _Starfleet_," he spat the last word, administering another quick shock, "but I anticipated that you might say that."

The towering dark featured torturer motioned with his hand. The sounds of footsteps and struggling approached. A figure was dumped in front of his cage.

"Where do you want him, DaKen?"

_DaKen…_

"Here's fine, I got 'im," DaKen replied. The footsteps moved away.

Kaleb could just scarcely make out the form of a young male. Barely twenty, he guessed. DaKen had his enormous bicep wrapped dangerously tight around the boy's neck. The bright blue eyes of the youth fluttered opened, incoherent and frightened. His gaze met Kaleb's.

"Found this fella on the station wandering around after hours," DaKen told him, "turns out he's one a yours, Starfleet, a cadet from the academy. I got no doubts you're willing to forfeit your life, but are you willing to sacrifice his?"

* * *

Miria, still in the vice-admiral's seat, sat impatiently on the Bridge. She had not given much more thought to Alexander's little skirmish in the Brig the day before, but now, was pondering intently. All around, she could sense the wonderings of the others as well as they waited for Montgomery's return.

She was grateful for the distraction. There had been little time to brood since Miria had boarded that morning. Feeling the crew's emotions kept her from dealing with her own.

Montgomery and Alexander emerged from the Admiral's ready-room and returned to their places. Miria forfeited hers to Grakken, opting for a small, inconspicuous bench-seat to his right. Her eyes met Alexander's momentarily, but he quickly averted them, which concerned her greatly. She eyed him warily for a moment before returning her attention to the viewer. Having never traveled through a wormhole, Miria was anxious, but delighted her first experience was not confined to a tiny screen.

"Status?" the Admiral requested.

"We're all set, sir," Grakken replied, his pale antennae twitching in anticipation.

"Good. Mr. Benedetto, take us in."

The lights dimmed as the starship was now on red-alert. As the ship dove forward, the wormhole erupted from empty space, filling the viewer. The cerulean and royal blues topped with white crests, roiling tumultuously, unfolded from seemingly nowhere and blossomed like a violent flower; Miria found it stunning in the same way that a storm is dangerously mesmerizing. A golden sphere of light exploded from its heart, revealing the cavernous orifice of the phenomenon. The colossal waves and churning eddies engulfed her view as the _Companion _disappeared into the swirling vortex.


	11. II: The Needs of the Few 4

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

II: The Needs of the Few

FOUR

"I'm not working for anyone, I promise," Kaleb insisted vehemently, urgency and pain filling his voice. "I broke in on my own. It was my idea."

"Don't lie to me, Starfleet," DaKen growled, "I will kill him."

DaKen delivered another jolt to Kaleb as he tightened his grip on the cadet.

"I'm telling the truth!" he howled as the surge continued, "I'm AWOL! No one even knows where I am or what I was up to!"

The shocking ceased. DaKen dropped the device and wrapped both hands around the throat of the youth, massive thumbs pressing into the trachea. Eyes bulging with terror, his gasps for air diminished to mere wheezes.

"Please, stop," Kaleb begged, "he can't breathe! I'm alone on this. No one knew anything, honest. Please. "

Kaleb wracked his brain, frantic for a solution. The boy would be dead in seconds. He had to give DaKen something, anything, to satisfy him.

"Wait!"

"You ready to talk?" DaKen asked, relaxing his grip only slightly.

"Last night, before I broke in," Kaleb began with much effort, attempting to sit up. Speaking quickly, he was fervent to convince the crazed man. "I spoke with Captain Tevekand Commander Tal of the _Vanguard _about my suspicions. They confined me to the ship, so I went to investigate against orders. I'm AWOL. You have to believe me."

He narrowed his dark eyes at Kaleb, who was now draped across the bars, breathing heavily.

"You're lying," DaKen decided, flatly. He returned his attention to his young victim.

"No!" Kaleb yelled. He felt his hand brush something cold. It was the torture device. Kaleb seized it and kicked up the settings. Kaleb knew he had to be cautious; any shock to DaKen would also harm the cadet as long as they were in physical contact. At once, he delivered five short bursts.

DaKen buckled, his vice-like-grip loosening. The boy was motionless. Kaleb could not risk another attack until he was clear. A growl erupted from DaKen as he lifted his large frame off the floor. As the colossus of a man dove for the cage, Kaleb dialed the device to maximum and drove it into his captor's gut. DaKen crumpled instantly.

Once satisfied that DaKen was incapacitated, Kaleb attempted to pull away, but could not. The apparatus was heating up rapidly; Kaleb let go of it and drew back. He heard the unmistakable whine of an overload and dove for cover.

There was a loud crackle and a flash of light as the device exploded. Kaleb felt sparks shower his backside. Kaleb coughed, choking on smoke. He dragged his throbbing body back to the bars of his cage. DaKen lay unconscious; a nasty charred wound covered his abdomen. The stench was nauseating.

Beyond his defeated captor was the concernedly still frame of the cadet.

* * *

The fleet was now on its way through the wormhole. The Bridge glowed with a blue hue as they traveled through its swirling corridor. Warp travel was impossible within the anomaly, but it would not take much time at sublight velocity to traverse its length. It was fascinating to Miria, crossing a vast distance at the relatively slow pace of one-quarter impulse, less than half the speed-of-light. What would take a lifetime, even at high warp, was possible well within a day's time. She understood the scientific basics of the idea that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, but that this naturally-occurring phenomenon somehow folded subspace making its quick curvy path shorter than the usual linear one. Miria sighed, thoroughly perplexed.

"Ambassador," Montgomery said quietly, turning towards Miria, his gaze intense, "why don't you and Commander Erikssen go to the dining hall and do a little reconnaissance. I haven't yet had the chance to check it out for myself. I wanna know if Chef lives up to his reputation or if I should stick with the replicators."

"Yes, sir," Miria replied, fully understanding what he was actually implying. Alexander said nothing, utterly confused; they headed for the turbolift.

"I expect a full report on my desk this evening," Montgomery called after them.

"Understood," Miria said, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, as the lift closed.

Ten minutes later, Miria and Alexander were seated in the dining hall. It was a nice facility and the food was decent. Alexander had already wolfed down most of his meal. Miria recalled that he habitually forgot to eat, a tendency they had in common.

"What was that all about?" Alexander asked, his plethora of sides finished, now eyeing the main course, "dining hall reconnaissance?"

"You've made a friend," Miria informed him, "a friend in a very high place. Montgomery was obviously concerned for you. He sent us here to talk."

"So you're the ship's counselor, too?"

"Goodness, no," she objected, horrified at the prospect.

"So," he drawled out, treading tentatively, "how are you today?"

"Uh-uh," she replied shortly. She was not in the slightest ready to be thinking about DaKen, much less talk about it. Alexander understood and immediately backed off.

"But what about you?" Miria pried. "What was that? You taking a mysterious call in the ready room from Tevek moments before our big launch?"

He let out an annoyed sigh; Alexander was brimming with concern and a tinge of sadness. Why she had not felt it before that moment was a mystery. Miria resolved that, in due time, she would need to delve further into the conundrum. Her empathic abilities aside, they had always shared a bond, a sort of connection, and understood one another as good friends should. But now, he seemed so guarded and hard to read, or reach.

"Actually, it was Commander Tal," Alexander said finally, and told her everything.

They conversed for a short time, but once their most recent burning questions had been answered – the communiqué in the ready room, the strange look Miria shared with the helmsman – they both were so fatigued that reminiscing was hardly appealing.

"Mems, I'm exhausted," Alexander said, yawning. "We still have a long day ahead of us: can't wait to test out my new quarters."

"I haven't even been to mine yet," she replied, "my things were delivered for me. When I arrived, I went straight into a briefing."

"Maybe you should visit them from time to time. You know, move things around so it at least looks like you live there," Alexander suggested sarcastically. "Seriously, though, if your place is half as nice as mine, which I'm sure it is, you might actually get some rest once and a while. Maybe."

"Doubtful," she quipped.

"When do you need to report back, anyway?"

"Captain Morgan said she would notify me when we've reached the other side," Miria replied, "The Dominion has ships waiting on the other side to meet us. I need to be present to greet them. Hopefully, it's the Founders and not a fleet of Jem'Hadar warships."

Alexander nodded in agreement, another yawn slipping out.

"You've got a little time, not much, but why don't you try to grab a quick nap?" he suggested, "I know I'm going to."

"Yes. Breakfast tomorrow? We can catch up once we've gotten some sleep."

* * *

Nearly half an hour had passed and Kaleb was unsuccessful in rousing the young man. He worried that DaKen would wake first. That would guarantee certain tragedy. How DaKen even survived was a mystery to the AWOL lieutenant, but the signs of life were clearly evident.

Almost convinced the cadet was dead, it had only been a few minutes since he began breathing more normally. A steady rise and fall was visible now; however slight, it was there. He lay out of Kaleb's reach, and Kaleb feared shouting would wake DaKen or alert any accomplices. Futilely, Kaleb had been tossing scraps at the youth.

Returning his attention to DaKen, Kaleb salvaged a utility belt and a few random items from the man pockets. Oddly, he found no energy weapon, or any sort of hand held weapon for that matter. Kaleb supposed that the man relied on his enormous size for defense. Making an inventory, Kaleb discovered several unidentifiable objects, tranquilizer darts, a communications device, a remote, a handheld scanner, some explosive material, and a miniature padd with a large amount of data. There was also a type of hypospray that Kaleb guessed was used to sedate him.

Suddenly, ingenuity struck him. He pressed the hypo to the unconscious man and administered the sedative. Kaleb did not want him waking up anytime soon. DaKen grumbled something unintelligible and began shifting about.

_Uh oh_, he thought_, not a sedative. Must be the antidote_.

Quickly, Kaleb fished out the tranquillizer darts and stuck DaKen with three of them: neck, right arm and right thigh. The sleeping giant's head lolled over and was still again.

_If I could only reach him_, Kaleb said to himself¸ _I'd use this hypo to wake up the kid._

He was running out of time. The longer he waited, the more likely the chance they would be discovered. Kaleb knew he had to act quickly. _A good shaking_, he was sure, _would do the trick_…_Or maybe blunt force_. Surveying his cell, he saw nothing useful. Even if he did find something, anything big enough to do the job would be too big to fit between the bars of his cage.

_Maybe I can reach something outside_.

Peering through the dim light, Kaleb found just the thing. Tucked beneath the frame of his would-be-murderer were large boots. Confident the sedative would keep him out; Kaleb began tugging on the injured behemoth's shoes. It took a little effort, but the boot pulled free.

A rancid odor followed. Kaleb gagged.

Blinking back tears and holding his break, he took aim. He intended for the cadet's head, hoping the blow would rattle him awake.

He missed.

Retrieving the second boot was slightly easier, but no less disgusting. This time, Kaleb tried for the stomach. It was a larger target and more certain to disturb the cadet. Carefully, he let the boot swing like a pendulum and released. It sailed through the air, landing square on his gut.

The boy grunted and sat up; a coughing fit seized him. Kaleb attempted to hush him, but to no avail. DaKen began to rouse, so Kaleb jabbed another dart into the enormous thigh.

"Hey, kid," Kaleb said, "you gotta get me outta here. His friends'll be here any second."

"Right," he managed between coughs. Climbing to his feet, he swiftly examined the cage. "I don't see anyway to..."

"Were you in a cell? How did they put you in or get you out?" Kaleb pressed urgently.

"I…I don't remember."

In the distance, Kaleb could here the others approaching rapidly.

"See if you can find a console or the controls or something," Kaleb suggested, "but stay outta sight. If you get caught, we're done for. And hurry."

At that, the cadet took off.

Kaleb flipped open the scanning device; it looked Romulan to him. Scans showed he was in a large chamber, possibly a storage bay. There were twenty-some other cages like his own, but all were empty. Three life-signs were moving toward his position. A security console lay in the direction they were coming from. There was one life-sign still at the console. Another was moving in a wide arc around the three towards the remaining one. Kaleb presumed that one had to be his new young friend.

_Way to go_, _Cadet_.

Kaleb tried to scan beyond the perimeter of the chamber, but a dampening field prevented him from doing so. He imagined it worked just as well in the opposite direction. No one would have any idea that this little operation was going on in here. They could be in the heart of Deep Space Nine and no one was the wiser for all Kaleb knew.

He heard a loud crash, then another, followed by weapons fire and silence. There was a bright light and tingling as Kaleb was transported out of his cage. He rematerialized next to the cadet at the security console.

"Good work," Kaleb remarked gratefully, "are you ok? Where are the others?"

"I'm fine. I put them in the empty cages, without their weapons," he said, smiling proudly at himself. "After I knocked over some crates and pinned the guard."

"Nice thinking, Cadet." Kaleb commented with an impressed grin and a pat on the back.

"Thanks," he said. "By the way, you gotta name?"

"Lieutenant Kaleb Vance, Starship _Vanguard_."

Startled that Kaleb was a Starfleet officer, the cadet snapped to attention and gave a salute, "Cadet Koday: Starfleet Academy, San Francisco, Earth. Personnel Number 58-"

"At ease, Cadet," Kaleb gave him a big toothy grin. He had forgotten he was out of uniform. He then shook Cadet Koday's hand, "it's nice to meet ya. Thanks for getting me outta that cage."

"It's my pleasure, sir," Koday said, "thanks for saving my life back there. You really messed that guy up."

"He had it coming." Kaleb said flatly. Moving to the console, he studied the display. "Looks Starfleet. That's good news; hopefully that means help is close by. How they've been stowing away like this, I'll never know…wait, a sec, I only see four lifesigns here. Where's the fifth? Did you get DaKen? Did you get the big guy, the guy that tried to kill us?"

"Uh," Koday stammered fearfully, "I-I don't know. I was in such a hurry that I only transported who I saw on the targeting scanners, sir. I didn't know how many we were dealing with. I'm _really_ sorry."

"It's alright, Koday. You didn't know. You did your best." Kaleb said, worry tingeing his voice, "let's just get outta here, and figure out where the heck we are before he shows up again."

Kaleb began the arduous task of accessing the security protocols of the console while the cadet paced anxiously behind him. He attempted to deactivate the dampening and force-fields around the chamber so that they could get a message out, or find out where they were.

An alarm sounded and the display shut down. Kaleb was suddenly struck from the side. He was lying on the floor several meters from where he had been standing with Cadet Koday lying atop him.

_Ka-boom_.

The console was gone and in its place was a black ring of ash.

"Let's move!" Kaleb ordered, heaving Koday off him and then hoisting the cadet upright. They scurried into the protective shadows of the stacks of cargo containers. The lighting flickered off. More explosions trailed their escape route.

* * *

Getting lost was typical for the Ambassador, so arriving at her new quarters moments after leaving the dining hall was a pleasant surprise. Miria was grateful. She had quietly dreaded that the remainder of her leisure would be spent roving the corridors in a futile hunt. However, when she approached the door, it did not slide open. She hoped her delight was not premature. Silently pleading, Miria pressed the panel adjacent to the entry way. No effect.

"Computer," Miria said, pausing until she heard the acknowledging beep, "whose quarters are these?"

"**The quarters of Ambassador Miria Memlilia**," was the response.

"Computer, open the door," Miria commanded. There was negative sound.

"Computer, these are my quarters. Why won't the door open?"

"**The door has been sealed. Access is restricted.**"

Miria pressed the panel again and entered her security clearance codes and then ordered, "Computer un-restrict access and open the door. Authorization: Memlilia alpha five-two."  
There was an affirmative chirp and the door _whooshed_ open.

Miria stepped inside and made a bee-line for the sleeping quarters. She had maybe twenty minutes before she would need to return to the Bridge. The door closed immediately behind her and she stopped short. It was pitch-dark, save the ambience of the stars.

"Computer, lights," she demanded with agitation. There was a negative beep. "Computer? Lights on."

Nothing happened. There was no response of any kind. Miria's annoyance was slowly mixing with uneasiness. She turned about and walked back toward the entrance. The door did not open. The control panel was unresponsive as well. Her trepidation grew into full-fledge anxiety when she sensed the presence of someone in her quarters.

Air breezed across her face as the intruder moved past quickly. She gasped, startled, and then felt her commbadge get snatched up. Miria was about to let out a signature shriek, when a hand clamped over her mouth. In the darkness, direction had no meaning as strong arms carried her away from the door.

Instantly, Miria could sense who had her.


	12. II: The Needs of the Few 5

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

II: The Needs of the Few

FIVE

"It's no use, sir," Koday insisted, "the force-field is still up. We're trapped."

Sitting in the dark, Kaleb remained silent. They had stumbled onto a Jeffries tube hatch, but it was sealed and a force-field was blocking the opposite side of the hatch. Koday was correct, they were trapped. If they truly were on a Starfleet vessel, as Kaleb suspected, internal sensors should have picked up the explosions. At the very least, someone would have heard them. He was sure the shockwaves were enough to interfere with structural integrity and affect the pitch of the starship. Someone had to have noticed something.

"To hell with it," Kaleb said resolutely, standing.

"Sir?"

"We're getting out of here, now," he replied, "I'm not gonna sit around in the dark, waiting for that guy to mess me up for the fourth time in forty-eight hours or get his paws on you again. And I'm _not_ gonna wait for something else to blow up and throw me across the room, again."

"What's your plan?" Koday asked, obviously excited by Kaleb's proclamation.

"These oughta blow the heck outta that hatch," Kaleb said, shining his light on the explosives from DaKen's utility belt, "the blast should disrupt the force-field long enough for us to get through."

"I'm with you, sir," Koday said, "Let's do it."

Kaleb began strategically placing the charges around the Jeffries tube hatch setting each for highest yield. The devices were set to detonate sequentially, reinforcing the concussive discharge, each blast forcing the field back several meters. They would have less than a minute to get through before it closed again like a bag being cinched.

"I think I've got it, Lieutenant," Koday reported. "This scanner's a lot different than a standard issue tricorder, but it should do the trick."

Kaleb rose and went to check the cadet's work. He was programming the handheld Romulan device to act as a remote detonator.

"Looks good to me," he said, patting Koday on the back, "Let's take cover."

Several large cargo containers were concealing their position. Kaleb deduced that those should provide adequate protection from the blast. The two hunched down between the freight.

"Ready?"

Koday's nod was barely visible in the eerie green glow of the scanner. Kaleb took a deep breath and then pressed the display to initiate the count down sequence; they clung closely to the container. Kaleb noticed the cadet peering closely at the container's label. "What is it?"

"Shine your light a little closer, sir," Koday requested.

Kaleb complied. He too was now examining the markings.

"This says pertisium," Koday informed him. "Isn't pertisium highly volatile?"

Kaleb's eyes went wide. Glancing down, he saw the counter hit zero.

* * *

_There's another one._

Back into his gear, "Torrence" had hopefully been shed for good. Not that it mattered much now. If the terrorists really had made it into the fleet and what he was detecting were explosions or some type of sabotage, there was little that could be done.

Peering intently at his display, he shook his head.

_This was suicide._ _What did you hope to accomplish in the middle of wormhole? _

Flipping his screen shut, he was on the move again. Everything else detected thus far had been out of reach. The last one was on his ship. He could not guarantee he would be able to do anything about it, but he would be damned if he just stood around and watched.

Another tremor shook him. It made the gravity plating beneath his feet whine in protest.

_ There gonna kill us all._

* * *

_Nightingale_, she thought to herself. It was a misconstrued pseudonym if she'd ever heard one. Slipping away from her post, to the bafflement of the medical staff, she was almost running down the corridor. The strangely designed scanning device she held gave intermittent signals, but, if the intelligence was right, she already knew where she was going.

_Oh, I'm gonna be in so much trouble if I get caught…_

Taking the turbolift to her ship's lowest deck, she bounded through the doors and down a side passage before anyone could see her exit. Several heads peeked out into the hall to see who had come to visit their forlorn level. Sliding open a Jefferies-tube hatch, she ducked inside and was then quickly climbing towards her destination. Doing her best to control her breathing and racing nerves, she tried not to hyperventilate. It was possibly the craziest thing she had ever done; she felt both terrified and so much alive in the same moment.

Absently, she noticed the screen blips converging on her position and she quickened her pace. Ahead lay two diagonal shafts leading port and starboard. She took the closest and shimmed up it, coming out into a wide, low chamber.

Per her instructions, she found the correct panel, removed the cover, and then began rearranging the isolinear tags according to the diagram. Repeating the process on five other terminals, she then activated a series of algorithms on her handheld device. She waited patiently, eyeing the blips as they crept closer; only minutes remained.

Sparks erupted as the program took effect. Smoke wafted from the terminals and the pulsing light from the myriad relays and conduits ebbed and went out. Dashing to the central hub, she disengaged a large section of conduit and removed it. With the heavy piece tucked under one arm, she whipped out her phaser and fired on the ports that were once connected to the mechanism, fusing them shut.

"Warning. Secondary power systems have been compromised. Emergency, backup, and auxiliary power are offline. Warning."

She fumbled to reach the device and began entering codes until the alarm stopped.

Exhaling dramatically in relief, she moved as quickly as she could towards her exit. There was a single Jefferies tube access point, but it meant a long climb through the bowels of the ship. Hoping to return the same way she had come, she heard voices in the shaft, and knew the path was now blocked. Wrenching open the hatch, heaving the hefty piece of conduit inside, diving in headlong after it, and yanking the hatch closed, she distinctly heard the muddled words shift into clarity as they entered the chamber.

Pulling the latch to its locked position, she slumped back with exasperated relief.

* * *

Poised at her station, A'læ was working fervently at the controls. Whoever had last manned Tactical had left the control configurations in disarray. She wondered how anyone was able to even read the console much less use it. Silently fussing, she intended to give whoever was responsible a very stern talking-to. As long as she was Chief, they would play by her rules.

Several indicators began pulsing, but A'læ could not discern their intent or purpose. Fearing it was their shields or structural integrity – vital for traversing a wormhole – she swiftly crouched to gain manual access at the base of her console's podium.

The distinctive sound of phaser fire sliced through the serene hum of _Gallant's _Bridge.

"Ensign, What the–"

Another shot.

Reflexively, the phaser hidden in a recess of her station was in A'læ's hand; without hesitation, she stole a glance over the ledge and then fired two shots.

* * *

"Shh, babe, it's okay, it's me."

DaKen had taken Miria into the lavatory of her quarters. Tentatively, he released his hand from her mouth. She did not scream. Miria had no intention of screaming. As soon as he grabbed her, she knew it was him. Miria also understood that he had no idea what she knew; only that he had gone missing. For her safety, she thought it best to play the grieving-turned-joyously-relieved-fiancée card.

Stifling her rage, Miria channeled her emotions. Tears pouring, she spun about and threw her arms around his neck. It sickened her to be in such close proximity, though unexpectedly, a sense of relief rose up as well. DaKen winced and recoiled from her embrace; he was cradling himself.

The lights dimly activated. It was enough for her to see. Miria gasped in horror, covering her face. Only a few shreds of his tunic remained. DaKen's torso was covered in burns; many second and third degree, she immediately deduced. A deep wound enveloped his ravaged abdomen. Bloody towels were strewn all about the lavatory.

"What happened?" she breathed, genuine compassion replacing her loathing.

"It's a long story," DaKen gruffly replied, his voice low, "I'll live."

"You need medical attention," she insisted, rising. He grabbed her arms and pulled Miria back down; he shook his head.

"Okay," she acquiesced. DaKen slid back down to the floor and leaned against the wall. Miria retrieved a few more clean towels and offered them to him. She could not bring herself to treat his wounds.

"I didn't know what happened to you," she told him, a partial truth, "How did you get in here? How did you get on board? Certainly someone saw you like this?"

"Like I said," he managed, "long story."

"Alright," Miria said, "but you need help. I don't what's going on, but if you won't go see a doctor, at least let me go get some medical supplies: Antiseptics, bandages, an analgesic, maybe a dermal regenerator. I'm sure I could find an emergency medkit somewhere. Please, let me help you."

He nodded and as Miria was rising, he took her hand.

"You're not mad at me?" DaKen inquired.

She shook her head.

"Not for a minute," she lied. It amazed her how effortless it was to be so two-faced. "Only concerned. DaKen, I didn't know what happened to you, or where you were; if you were safe or even alive."

"I love you," DaKen said emphatically.

She smiled as sweetly as she could muster and hurried away. Once outside, she used every encryption, security, and command code she knew to seal the door. Miria was about to call for security, but when her right hand found no commbadge on her chest's left to tap, she was reminded that DaKen had taken it. Hastening down the corridor, Miria began searching for anyone, preferably a security officer. Seeing the debacle come to the _Companion, _she remembered Commander Tal's warning.

_ I have to find Alex_.

* * *

Strolling down the passageway to his quarters, Alexander was excitedly anticipating a long nap followed by a good night's sleep. As much as he enjoyed eating, food could be forgone over sleep any day of the week. Fatigue had pushed from his mind the overshadowing mysteries and the concern for his missing comrade, and Alexander was momentarily content with his new post on what he considered to be the singularly most fantastic ship ever. His judgment, due in part, to his unexpected favor with the extraordinary commanding officer.

The corridor to his quarters was on the outer section of the deck, which gave him viewports to enjoy all the way from the turbolift to his door. The verteron-tunneling phenomenon – or wormhole to the simpleminded – they were currently transversing was gorgeous. The blues were an unexpected beauty and cast a pleasant ambience. Alexander just hoped he had curtains that would keep the ridiculously bright radiance out.

A harsh claxon resounded.

The lights dimmed and the side panels began pulsing ruby. Red-alert had been triggered. Alexander paused and waited to hear any instructions from the Bridge. A violent tremble coursed through the ships' hull. Something was very wrong; he could feel it. He was not sure how, but Alexander was certain, that in a matter of seconds their status had swiftly deteriorated.

A voice from the comm was giving orders, but Alexander was not interested. His gaze was locked. The view from the corridor was an excellent vantage of the starboard warp nacelles. The blue of the engine pods propelling the ship forward had altered. The plasma in the nacelles was blushing a brilliant purple.

Alexander paled; his stomach ill, and his knees weak. A look of horror overtook his face as he realized what was happening. Someone had activated his tetryon-plasma warp drive.

_Oh God…_

If the ship began generating a warp field, the tetryon particles would destabilize the verteron matrix of the wormhole. Should they not be instantly vaporized or crushed by the quantum stresses, the corridor would collapse and the gravimetric pressure would breach _Companion's _core. An antimatter explosion would cause a cataclysmic change-reaction, obliterating the phenomenon and the entire fleet along with it.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid..._

Alexander swore he was going to kill whoever was responsible if he even made it there alive. He tore down the passageway towards the turbolift; it shuddered as he went. Tapping his commbadge, he made several calls. Recklessly and unapologetically, he shoved several crew members aside as he galloped. The lift closed and the ship rocked twice more. Alexander had to get to Main Engineering and shut down the core.

_Death and toothpicks, _Alexander thought, remembering the Chief Reynolds's quip.


	13. II: The Needs of the Few 6

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

**_EXCURSION GAMMA ~ _**_volume one_

II: The Needs of the Few

SIX

**_Companion_**** Bridge**

"Report," Montgomery ordered. Intense spatial turbulence was brutally rattling the ship. Power fluctuated wildly and the Bridge began to quiver with an unnervingly steady vibration.

"The warp core is powering up, sir," Benedetto responded. "A warp field is forming."

"Shut it down, Commander." Grakken ordered. His tone sharp, he was on his feet.

"Attempting to do sir," the helmsman told him, "I'm having trouble accessing – hold on. Sir! I've been locked out."

The ship wrenched sharply as it was rocked again. Grakken seemed unfazed by the jolt.

"Engineering report," Montgomery called out, "Reynolds, what's going on down there?"

The air crackled. There was no reply.

"The comm is down, sir," Kelsa reported, banging her console. "I'm locked out, too."

Montgomery glanced at Grakken and jerked his head toward the turbolift. The blue-skinned vice-admiral was off to Engineering in a hurry like an ensign a quarter his age. Another large rumble rocked them, followed by a substantial jerk. The lights flickered, went dark, and then came on again.

The air was smoky with fire suppressant, but still. Everyone paused as the deck shivering slowly crescendoed into a quake until everything abruptly lurched forward. The hull nearly buckled under the strain. A lamenting groan could be heard from the starship.

"Structural integrity is down to 56 percent," Lt. Commander Ilya Andreynegev, the Tactical Officer and Chief of Security said, breaking the silence.

"That felt like a decompression," Captain Morgan said, rising to her feet. "Kelsa, you still have internal sensors?"

"Affirmative," she responded, "I'm not reading anything unusual."

"Reinitialize your sensors people," Montgomery ordered, "were missing something."

Momentarily, there was an empty silence as the systems rebooted, and then the Bridge erupted with alarms. Large amounts of previously obstructed data began flowing in.

"Hull breach on Deck 22, decompression in progress," Andreynegev informed the Admiral, "Intruder alert on Decks 7, 12, 18, 22, and 31."

"Seal that breach," Montgomery said, "How many intruders?"

"I can't tell," she answered, "internal sensors have been tampered with."

"Sir," Commander Kelsa said, "the comm is still down and I'm still locked out. I've got sensors only. An explosion from inside _Companion_ caused the breach. I'm detecting evidence of explosions throughout fleet. The _Searchlight _is badly damaged, but their outer hull is intact."

"Understood," the Admiral replied. "Ilya, take security teams and round up our visitors."

Morgan replaced the tactical officer at her station.

"Can someone tell me–" Montgomery began. He was cut off as the Bridge suddenly pitched forward. A violent tremor followed.

"What the blazes?" the Admiral exclaimed, returning to his chair. The other officers were climbing back into their own seats as well, many tossed about by the turbulence.

"We're at an all-stop, Commodore," Benedetto reported from the helm, "the warp field has stabilized. It's acting like an anchor in subspace; we're not budging, sir. I've lost helm control. Impulse engines and thrusters are offline."

"Tremendous," Montgomery remarked facetiously. "Shut that core down, now!"

* * *

**_Vanguard_**** Bridge**

"What is the status of the fleet," Captain Tevek requested. Despite increased power to the ship's inertial dampers, there was an incessant vibration. His Bridge had sustained heavy damage during the cascade of explosions, but their systems were mostly unaffected. Several saboteurs were already in custody.

"All stop, sir. _Searchlight _is now dead in the water," his helmsman responded, "The _Companion _is generating a stable warp field."

"Any response to our hails?" Tal asked.

"None, ma'am," the ensign at Ops answered, "their communication systems appears to have been heavily damaged. I doubt they even have in-ship contact."

Captain Tevek exchanged concerned glances with his First Officer.

"Sir," Tal said quietly, so that only her pointy-eared Vulcan Captain could hear her. "You must assume command of the fleet. With Montgomery incommunicado, or worse, and that warp field threatening to bring the wormhole down around our ears -"

"Commander," Tevek interrupted her, "it is logical to assume that the crew of the _Companion _is already devising a means of deactivating the field. I am prepared to take command, and will do so only when necessary. Until then, we will be patient."

There was series of alarms and the ship's power fluctuated as another turbulent shockwave rocked _Vanguard_. Commander Tal rose from her seat and went to the science station; the face of the officer at the console was horror stricken, and the Bajoran had zero patience for stammering reports. To her astonishment, she too was momentarily speechless.

"Captain," she said, "we've got a serious problem."

"Can you be more specific?"

"Sensors have detected a perforation in the perimeter of the corridor." she reported, poorly masked fear lacing her voice.

"What?" he breathed. Turning to his side-mounted display, Tevek reviewed the readings she transferred. There was a rather large puncture adjacent to the _Companion, _growing at an alarming rate; a gravity-well had formed within the gap, ceasing normal flow in either direction, and the quantum stresses within the phenomenon were increasing exponentially.

Tevek stood to his feet and calming called out, "This is Captain Tevek to the Fleet. I am taking emergency command due to an eminent threat to our collective safety. The _Companion _has been disabled. Its warp field has caused a tear in subspace which is destabilizing the wormhole. Immediate action must be taken."

* * *

**_Achilles_**** Bridge**

"You heard Tevek," D'Landrii barked, his amber eyes flashing. Seething, the captain was standing at the railing behind his chair rather than sitting. "Take us closer. We need to pop that warp bubble."

"Aye, sir," said the helmsman.

Bounding over to tactical through the turbulence, the captain entered a complex formula for his tactical officer to use for disrupting the _Companion's _warp field.

"Sir," the office flustered, "that could cause an overload in their core."

"Better them than _all _of us," the captain stated flatly. "Do it."

The tactical officer nodded, unsettled, as D'Landrii returned to his perch. The doors _swooshed _open and a bloody-faced, yellow-shirted ensign stumbled out of the turbolift.

"Captain," the ensign managed, "we've rounded up all the intruders."

"All of them," D'Landrii sneered, "Are you sure?"

"We think so…"

"You'd better be."

"Yes, sir. The Brig is in bad shape. What should we…what should we do with them?"

"I'm gonna flush 'em out an airlock the next chance I get," his eyes locked on the viewer, "the moronically suicidal idiots."

* * *

**The _Companion_**

From his hiding place on the catwalk, he could clearly see the standoff below. A _Companion_ security detail, led by a very tall female lt. commander in yellow, was exchanging fire with several rough looking men. They were very familiar to him; they were DaKen's.

_Where is he_?

He recognized the point man: brawny and tall, with too much nappy hair and too much skin exposed. It was rare, during any of their past altercations, for "Dreads" – as he had come to call the towering alien – to not be at DaKen's side. If "Dreads" was leading their pack, then DaKen was likely not around.

_Damn._

He could not help but grin at the impudence. While the two sides took cover behind cargo containers and debris, "Dreads" stood out in the open. A wild look in his eyes and his lips stretched grotesquely over his teeth into a deranged smile, he stood defiantly in the path of crossfire, easily dodging each shot.

While hoping to catch DaKen, he decided to settle for a consolation prize. Taking aim with his favorite sniper rifle, he put "Dreads's" forehead in his crosshairs. As if reading his mind, "Dreads" looked straight at him and dodged the shot. A maniacal look in his eyes, "Dreads" lobbed a grenade.

Scrambling to his feet and sprinting, his perch exploded behind him. The catwalk split in two and dropped away. He smacked his face and chest against the metal plating – the wind knocked from him – and began sliding backwards. Clawing to reach the railing that was holding the remains of the catwalk aloft, he heard a section of the walkway crash to the floor below and someone woefully call out "Ilya!"

Summoning all the strength in his stocky upper body, he pulled himself up and slowly edged himself out of harms way. Stretching from railing to support truss, he reached the ledge beyond the catwalk. Lying on his belly, he slid out of sight. He was still, breathing, for a moment.

This part of the ship had been ravaged and, from his new perch, he could see most of the cargo bay where the fighting continued, as well as several sections of surrounding corridor and into whatever room lay above them. In the corridor adjacent, he saw an officer in red with longish blond hair sprinting. Immediately, he noted him from an interrogation the day before.

_Commander Erikssen…or something._

Something grabbed his attention, and his eyes darted back to the skirmish. "Dreads" had been shot several times. A large piece of metal gruesomely protruded from his abdomen. The security team was advancing when "Dreads" raised something that blinked red into the air. "Dreads" grinned and pressed it.

_Boom_

It was as thunder.

Roiling waves of flame engulfed "Dreads" and surged outwards incinerating them all. The explosion reached the walls of the room and blew through them as though they weren't there. He saw the bulkheads shatter into the corridor, instantly overtaking any unsuspecting passersby. Absently, he thought of the blond officer in red.

He felt the bulkhead give way beneath him. With nowhere to go, he tumbled down into the debris and swirl of flames below.

* * *

**_Companion_****Bridge**

"Shields are buckling, Commodore," Morgan reported, "rerouting emergency power."

"Sir," It was Kelsa. "The _Achilles _is directing a pulse from their main deflector; it's destabilizing our warp field and reinforcing our shields."

"Good. Anything we can do?"

"An anti-harmonic resonance pulse from our deflector should finish the job," Benedetto suggested.

"Do it."

"I am synchronizing the pulse with theirs," Kelsa informed them, "Initiating in 3, 2, 1, mark. Field has dissipated."

"Good work, people," the Admiral said, "Can you get us moving now, Antony?"

"Negative," he answered, "engines are still offline, maneuvering thrusters only. We're caught in the pull of that breach."

"What about the fleet?"

"Only the _Gallant _and _Deterrence _are still beyond the range of the rift, for now," Captain Morgan replied. "The rest of us are being pulled in. Correction, the _Deterrence _has locked onto the _Searchlight_ and is towing them to safety."

On the viewscreen, Montgomery could see the _Vanguard_, the_ Achilles, _and the _Barcelona_ moving steadily towards them. The _Barcelona_ appeared to be traveling in reverse, but at a skewed angle. At less than a quarter the size of the other ships, the _Defiant_-class _Barcelona_ should have been less affected by the gravitational pull, unless its engines were off line. It was headed directly for the rupture.

"The _Barcelona_ns adrift," Montgomery stated. "Tractor beam?"

"We don't have the power, sir," Morgan reported from tactical, "we're barely holding it together as is."

Studying his personal display, the Admiral formulated a plan, "We'll worry about them later. We need to get out of here before we're all crushed, but we're not going anywhere as long as the wormhole is being torn apart. If we close the tear, we should be able to break free. Divert all remaining energy to the Main Deflector and charge for a twenty-second burst of-"

"Sir, sorry to interrupt, but the _Vanguard _has moved into range," Kelsa said, "They're attempting to seal the rupture. _Achilles _has a tractor beam targeted at the _Barcelona_ns well."

"Looks like Tevek and D'Landrii have everything under control," said Montgomery returning to his seat, "Mr. Benedetto, bring us about; on my mark, vent all plasma from the warp nacelles. Aisha, reverse the polarity of our aft tractor beam emitter. We should have enough power for a sustained reverse-pulse strong enough to get us moving again.

"Aye, sir," they replied. Morgan jumped up and began making the necessary modifications at the secondary engineering console.

"I've poured all the juice we have into shields, engines, and the tractor beam. We've got one shot at this, sir." Morgan informed him, retaking tactical.

"Let's make it good, then. Proceed."

"Venting plasma," Benedetto narrated.

"Engaging reverse tractor pulse," Morgan followed, "shields are holding."

The hull of the ship shuttered as they fought to break free. An alarm sounded as they neared the edge of gravitational field.

"Sir," Kelsa called out, "We have to disengage the tractor. It's pushing the warp plasma into the tear. The high quantity of tetryon particles is destabilizing the wormhole."

"Disengage," Montgomery barked, "Shunt the power to the engines."

"Admiral, its worse," Morgan returned, "It wasn't the warp field that caused the rift. We were hemorrhaging tetryons the whole time. Our field was acting like a bubble, holding up the corridor around us. As soon as we shut it down, the perimeter began deteriorating. We're looking at wide scale collapse in under two minutes."

* * *

**_Vanguard _****Bridge**

"Captain, the _Gallant_ has come about. They're coming straight toward us; their weapons are charged," came an urgent report from tactical, "They're firing at the _Companion!"_

"What it the world…" Tal whispered.

"Disable them, all necessary force," Tevek ordered. He watched as the _Defiant_-class ship easily evaded the weapons fire.

"The targeting scanners have been misaligned," Commander Tal reported, angrily cursing. They watched as the _Gallant _effortlessly maneuvered the currents of the rupture and approached their sister ship, the_ Barcelona__._

"An anti-proton beam and a tetryon pulse have been directed at the tear," came another report, "And they've fired two high yield Tricobalt devices. I'm detecting an overload in _Gallant's_ core."

Tevek watched silently as the bright, twinkling spheres arced toward the rupture and detonated. The viewscreen went white, but he did not need to see it to know the explosion was catastrophic, the shockwave instantly inflicting severe damage to the already fated fleet and tunnel.

* * *

**The _Gallant_**

Dragged thrashing, cursing, and biting from her post at tactical, A'læ, gagged and bound, was being hauled down a corridor – the lighting was out – by two large aliens; one gripped both her wrists in one massive grasp and the other, her ankles. Her slight weight was painfully suspended. She did not recognize their species.

Two of her fellow Bridge officers mutinied, turning and firing on the Captain and First Officer, before the Bridge was overtaken by intruders. A'læ had fired on and killed – to her morbid satisfaction – one of the turncoats, but missed the other. Helplessly, she was forced to watch as the remaining Bridge crew was executed. It was only "because of her pretty little face" and "she's a feisty one" that she lived.

It became clear as they went the entire ship had been taken over. Dead bodies were strewn along their path. The vociferous A'læ was vehement, enraged into incoherence, losing all reason or conscience. She writhed in their grip, kicking and jerking, howling profanities through her gag. When they tossed her aside and hooked her restraints to something, her gag falling away, A'læ mellowed enough to realized they had arrived somewhere.

"I will kill you!" She shrieked, thrashing against her restraints. "I _will _kill you!"

"Shut it, female." one of them called.

Growling something indecipherable about their matriarchic ancestry, A'læ began screaming unintelligibly, reaching a state alarmingly near pure madness.

A sudden blow to the mouth brought her to her senses. A'læ blinked and gasped and then caught her breath, still reeling in shock. She took a breath as though she were about to cry out again, but her captor eyed her threateningly and raised his left hand; she deflated.

A'læ, looking about once she found composure, realized they were in Main Engineering. It was obvious the bulky aliens were having trouble. Undoubtedly, the chief had locked them out before being executed. It only took a moment for her to know what was wrong: the core was about to reach critical and destroy the ship.

"If you let me go, I'll help you." She offered calmly, her voice raspy from overexertion; a decidedly contrasting change from her previous disposition. They grunted and ignored her.

"I don't want to die," she said, more loudly. "And I can't fight or escape from you both."

Silence.

"We've got less than five minutes and I know the codes."

That got their attention. They shared a look and shrugged, then the closest came over to untie her. A'læ remained very still and calm, even when he "accidentally" violated her a few times. She daintily took his hand as he helped her to her feet.

"Thank you," she said with fake sweetness, still holding his hand. Then, with one quick movement, A'læ grabbed his shirt collar and easily twisted his arm, brutally slamming his head into the handrail she had been tied to. His bulky frame – twice her size – slumped to the floor as she un-holstered his sidearm. Spinning around, A'læ took aim and fired three shots between the other's eyes; he dropped.

Stepping over his body to the display, she mused, _I said I would kill you. I always keep my word._ The screen told her all she needed to know: there was nothing she could do. It mattered little because her crew was dead anyway. A'læ made quick work of performing a little sabotage of her own – encrypting the computers, destroying the shield generator, and venting all the atmosphere from the Bridge – before racing to the transporter room.

* * *

**_Achilles_**** Bridge**

"Extend our shields to include the _Barcelona_," Captain D'Landrii ordered. "The gravimetric sheer of the rift will tear them apart."

"It's too late sir. They're being pulled in."

The watched helplessly as the stocky little warship plummeted towards what was to be certain tragedy.

* * *

**_Companion_**** Bridge**

"The Verteron matrix has been compromised. Quantum stresses are threatening to crush us. The wormhole is collapsing."

"We've lost engines."

"Structural integrity failing, imminent micro hull-breaches: all-decks."

"The _Gallant_?" the Commodore asked, steely faced.

Antony turned so that Montgomery could see his eyes and only shook his head in reply.

"Commodore!" Morgan called out. Her tone was different than the rest, laced with something unbefitting the moment: hope. "I can't be sure, but I think…yes! Normal space detected through the rift."

The tear in the perimeter of the wormhole had exacerbated into a rift and then ruptured into a swirling vortex. The dimensions in that section of the corridor had become heavily distorted, no doubt having unimaginable effects on the rest of the phenomenon. These currents were not like the serene entry aperture, with its mantle of splendor, but instead was a cavernous dark disaster, chaotic and perilous. Nonetheless, if Morgan were right, a glimmer of hope lay beyond its destructive maw.

"Transfer all power to shields and structural integrity," the Admiral commanded, "Divert power from life-support. Hell, give 'em everything we've got. We're going in."

Like a deep-sea whirlpool at the heart of a tempest, the starships spiraled along the eddies, as if mere toys spinning toward a drain. Mercilessly and relentlessly tossed about, until the breach consumed them, the fleet was violently ejected from the disastrous passage.


	14. III: Eye of the Storm 1

A/N: I'm really upset no one told me this chapter was missing for over a month. It's kind of important and there's an obvious skip. I found the discrepancy by mistake, so...if it matters at all, here is is.

* * *

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

**Story Revamp: 07/01/2009 **

**Chapter Update: 08/21/2009  
**

Warning! Proceed no further. This story has undergone a major overhaul. Plot, characters, arrangement, chapters, you name it, have all been changed, added, deleted, altered etc. Unless you're a new reader, reading after July 1st, 2009, I suggest you go back and start with the newly added Prelude and continue on. You may recognize much of the story. A few installments have even only had minor changes, but unless you want to be lost, go back and start over. Besides, its' been like six months since I last posted...reread it. :D

* * *

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

III: The Eye of the Storm

ONE

Whether by some miracle, or infinitesimal chance, or by design, they reemerged into normal space. Careening wildly, the _Companion_ was hurled from the vortex at a hazardous velocity. Without engines to control their vector or slow their pace, the crew braced themselves hoping they would survive until whatever impact awaited.

Flickering, the holographic panorama showed, in spurts, a mostly empty starscape. Inertial dampers were slowly failing; those still conscious on the Bridge were suffering near-vertigo as the _Companion_ spiraled on its axis. As the ship rolled over once more, Admiral Montgomery caught a glimpse of something. Pinned by the ever-increasing G-forces, he fought to reach a console. If the dampers were not reengaged, they would all surely die.

On their next pass around, he saw actions would not matter. A massive object filled the view. The fleet had been ejected into an asteroid field.

Helplessly, Koday watched in dismay as the large starship lumbered haphazardly – end over end – into the expanse of colossal rock. The outermost edge of the saucer sections starboard side scraped violently against the nearest asteroid. As sparks, metal, and rock spewed in a cascading shower, the ship spun brutally and disappeared from view amidst the deathtrap. Koday inhaled sharply as he saw a bright flash and a column of oranges and reds burst into view. Plastered to the viewport of his adrift escapepod, the cadet had a front row seat to a show he could only wish was fictitious. He doubted anyone survived the egregious crash.

Pealing himself away from the transparent pane, Koday slumped against a bench seat. He had awoken only moments earlier, unsure where he was, or how he had gotten there. The last thing Koday remembered was the accidental detonation of the cargo containers. And then: this.

This. Whatever it was. A nightmare, an hallucination, a drug-induced delusion, or perhaps someone's sick and twisted joke to strand him inside a holodeck program making him believe it was real. The truth was any one of those scenarios was better than the alternative.

Cast adrift in a failing life raft: propulsion, sensors, weapon, and communications all offline. He was stuck. Alone with scarcely a semester of academy training under his belt, he had not the slightest idea how to proceed. He doubted anyone knew where he was; he certainly didn't. Every upstart cadet is bucking to "get out there." He was surprised as anyone might be that the adventure was more frightening and less exciting than expected.

_It's only an adventure if I make it home alive._

Surveying his surroundings, Koday saw a massive expanse of listless rubble, with the spatial chasm still yawing open. A lesser craft resembling the _Defiant_-class, though so badly battered he could not be completely sure, was not far from Koday's position. Spinning ever-so-slowly near the mouth of the vortex, they too were dead in the water. He at the very least had emergency back-up power, enough for life-support. It would surprise him if anyone aboard the other vessel was still alive. Floating on the edge of a clearing, several thousand kilometers in diameter, in the midst of the asteroid field, Koday could only watch as the other starships were gracelessly expelled.

_What is going on?_

Spewed almost simultaneously were two starships Koday recognized from _DS9_ as the _Achilles_ and the _Vanguard. _The latter, hot on the trail of the former, was dangerously close. The slightly smaller, _Prometheus_-class ship was tumbling end over end, her engines offline.

Quickly regaining control, _Vanguard_ eased up, but her heading seemed locked on the other ship. Her nacelles pulsing brightly as the _Sovereign_-class ship strained to slow, the rear end of the starship began to fish-tail wildly while the bow stayed fixed. Koday guessed they had forced an emergency stop, as _Vanguard _lurched to a halt, mere meters from the _Achilles._

The momentum was obviously too great because the stern began to pitch upward. Slanting woefully to port, Koday watched in horror as the port warp-nacelle began to twist independently of the ship. The stresses were too much; a visible fracture snaked across the pylon that attached the engine pod to the vessel's primary hull. The nacelle was wrenched away by the extreme forces, and, as the pylon snapped with a horrendous crack, was catapulted forward.

Rotating one hundred and eighty degrees immediately, and then a painfully slow forty-five, the rogue nacelle impaled the _Vanguard_'_s _dorsal hull. Driving deep into the heart of the ship, the breach erupted with plasma fires, fed by the escaping atmosphere. The lustrous coils along the warp nacelle's edge shattered in a sickeningly brilliant display. Mangled fragments of hull armor jutted upward around the piercing, debris and plasma showering into space. The once glorious starship distorted as a shockwave cascaded from the wreckage. Like a dagger in the back, _Vanguard_ had stabbed herself.

Lilting forward, the maimed vessel collided with the _Achilles_, both ships sustaining heavy damage. The hardy, armored, tritanium-alloy outer-hulls crumpled disturbingly at the impact point. The _Vanguard_ and _Achilles_ crushed into one another until their ghastly forms were meshed; Koday could no longer tell where one began and the other ended. Tumbling, twisting, and tearing, haphazardly they came to an unnerving halt.

Then all was still.

Koday felt himself breathe again. He had no words or thoughts; emotion did not flow. In his dumbstruck stupor, Koday saw the faintest shadow dart across _Achilles_' hull. There was a sudden burst of sparks from the starship's underside. The unmistakable form of a column descended from her belly: _Achilles _had ejected her warp core.

Koday deduced the reactor must have been at critical, an overload unavoidably imminent, or they would not have ejected it; there was no other explanation. A miniscule blue ray shot out at the core and it suddenly seemed to be pulled along. His suspicion that the shadow was a shuttlecraft was confirmed. The warp core zipped rapidly away from the derelicts and disappeared from view. Koday waited, his breath caught in his throat.

Beyond the clearing's edge was a brilliant flash and a rapidly expanding sphere of destructively kinetic energy. The once magnificent ships-of-the-line were strewn chaotically aside by the wave front of the antimatter explosion, capsizing like ships at sea.

Not wanting to believe his eyes, Koday shook his head in disbelief whispering his silent protest. The invisible wave front smote his escapepod, the concussive force rocking him violently. Well across the clearing, a visible shockwave ravaged the starships' outer hulls as the full force of the explosion reached them. Reality reaching his life-boat, he was overcome; dropping to his knees, Koday heaved.

Once the vomiting ebbed, he lay sobbing on the floor of his insignificant pod. The unfathomable loss of life Koday powerlessly witnessed sickened him to his very core. All his mind could feebly muster was that he was barely in his first year at the academy and he was by no one's definition prepared to cope.

* * *

Alexander jerked awake. He was lying on his stomach in a corridor. Remnants of a destroyed bulkhead were strewn atop his body. Despite fatigue and disorientation, his mind snapped into work mode. He assumed there had been an overload in the EPS relay system and the sidewall of the passage had exploded. Gathering his bearings, and attempting to shake the haziness from his head, Alexander dragged himself out of the wreckage.

The lighting was off in this section; the only illumination came from sparking conduits and the glow of a possible fire somewhere nearby. It was clear to him the ship had taken a serious beating. Though to what extent the damage reached, Alexander did not know. Ditching his nonfunctioning wrist-mounted light – presumably busted by projectile debris – he carefully stepped through the rubble.

Rounding the corner, Alexander came across three unquestionably deceased crewmembers and what he guessed was once a turbolift. He grimaced at their sight, but quickly suppressed his feelings, knowing there was presently nothing he could do. Nonetheless, he could not resist but check for breathing and a pulse to be sure.

That portion of the corridor was ravaged, unrecognizable, and he presumed whatever happed to the lift was also the cause of death. A display – barely functional – told him little, but he managed to confirm communications were still down, as well as all turbolifts, but emergency power had been rerouted to life-support and the warp core was stable.

_Best news I've heard all day_.

Doubling-back twice, Alexander's way was barred in seemingly every direction. He could only the hope the rest of the ship was not in as bad of shape. Near his latest blockage, he discovered a Jefferies-tube hatch; the path was relatively clear.

Climbing for nearly an hour, Alexander went up three decks and across two sections, before descending another five to find an exit into the Science Lab. He considered it to be in decent condition, all things considered, until he noticed the gaping hole in the bulkhead. Only a force-field separated Alexander from the cold vacuum of space.

"Whoa…" he breathed, his eyes locked on the breach; his feet treaded backward and seemed to independently be quickly exiting.

Once safely in the corridor, Alexander sealed the entrance and posted a warning. There was light and plenty of fresh air. This section of the ship had faired much better. Continuing onward, he came across another wrecked portion of the passage. It was small and easily crossed. Ducking under a hanging support truss, he was back into the open.

Alexander paused. He thought he heard something, but was not certain. Peering back into the shadows, he listened carefully. There was something. Following the sound toward the damaged bulkhead – filleted wide-open – he could see a gap cluttered with debris.

"A little help, here?" came a perturbed female voice.

"Yeah, hold on," Alexander responded concernedly, "I'm coming." With a great deal of effort, he cautiously parted the hanging obstructions, making space for her to exit. Reaching in with a helping hand, his offer was abruptly slapped away as the crewmember climbed past. Alexander was taken back.

_Geez._

Hunched over, he squeezed his way out. A groan echoed as the debris was released. Leaping away, Alexander tumbled to the floor beyond and to safety, taking his rescuee with him. The supports crumbled, the segment of the passage caving in.

"Watch where you're going," she spat, coughing up dust from the collapse.

"You're welcome," Alexander replied, mirroring her tone. Dusting himself off as he rose, he offered another helping hand, but she ignored it once more.

"It's a wonder the whole section didn't collapse," she scoffed, brushing off her uniform. "It sure took you long enough. I was beginning to wonder if anyone was coming."

_Charming_.

The corridor section they maladroitly tripped into was pristine. A nearby work station gave him near-complete access. From it, Alexander was able to ascertain a reasonable route to proceed upon. He also, ever industrious, bypassed the power flow around the collapsed section into secondary systems, erected an low-level integrity field, and updated the system according to what he had had the opportunity to observe along his circuitous path.

"We should keep moving," Alexander stated, as he finished, "this area is unstable."

"Ya think?" she retorted brusquely.

"Yes, I do, _Ensign_," he said. His voice was stern as he emphasized her rank, "Let's go."

"Yes, _sir_," she clipped and gestured for him to lead the way.

Except to exchange names, Baxter was hers, they continued on in silence.

Momentarily, they found several other crewmembers. One in green was treating two injured. One was badly burned – plasma, by the looks of it – and the other was unconscious. Internal injuries, if he had to guess.

"Can we be of any assistance?" Alexander offered.

"Not unless you've a PhD in med'cin," quipped the man, his Irish accent heavy. "I'm just about finished here, now. I'd appreciate it if you'd be willin' to help me carry these two up to stellar cartography."

"Sure thing," he replied, "I'm guessing you've triage set up there."

"Aye," the Irishman said, packing up his kit, "it was the only open area in this part of the ship that was remotely secure. Sickbay survived, but there be a lot of dangerous ground between us an' dem."

"Make sense," Alexander said, helping the burned crewman to her feet. "Ensign Baxter, you help her, and Doctor…"

"Connelly," he said, "but aye, I'm no doctor. Just a scientist posin as a one. I'm a medic."

"Alright," Alexander said, "You got her? Connelly and I will carry the other one."  
Baxter nodded silently, putting her arm around her shipmate, clearly perturbed. The burley Irish scientist and medic hoisted the man up with little trouble, and he and Alexander made light work of bearing the dead weight.

"You wouldn't happen to be the Lt. Commander Erikssen, would ya now?" Connelly inquired as he gestured they should turn right.

"Yeah," he answered, bemused. He peered questioningly at the man.

"I thought you might be the moment I saw you," Connelly admited. "You fit the description, anyhow."

"Description?"

"Aye," he answered, "there's a lass looking for you, the Ambassador I believe. She put out a little notice among the medics a-comin' an' goin' from triage. Said it was urgent. She's should still be up there now."

"Hmm," Alexader said, mulling the thought over, "thank you."

"Aren't we going to have to crawl through the Jefferies-tubes to get there," Ensign Baxter whined, butting in, "stellar cartography is on the next deck up; I can_ not_ carry her that far." Alexander shot the ensign a dirty look that told her to keep her comments to herself. He then remarked, "Exactly how do you plan on us getting there? The turbolift system is down." "Cargo Bay 2 is not far," he answered, "It's flooded with a wreched somethin or other, so we can't use it for the injured, but its cargo loader is still a-workin. We rigged a path outta a few containers to cross from the entrance to the lift. It'll take us right where we want to go."

* * *

_Dark. _

_ Air, hot and sticky._

_ Noise all around, lots of people. Frantic. _

_ Pain._

_ Hurts all over. Can't…move. Hard to breathe._

"Shh, Lieutenant," the voice was soothing, familiar to him, "just rest."

The refuge of sleep returned.

* * *

"Alex," Miria exulted, relief washing over her, as she rushed to him, "thank goodness you're alive. I was worried."

"I can take care of myself," he insisted, returning her embrace.

"You're bleeding," Miria exclaimed, noticing a bright red smear on the back of his neck.

"Oh, it's probably from the man I just carried in," Alexander deflected, but as he touched his nape, he winced. "Maybe not."

Connelly was able to clean Alexander up in no time. The medical staff was ahead of the triage situation, moving from stabilizing critical patients and onto the more minor bumps and bruises. "I was on my way from Engineering, got beaten up by an exploding bulkhead," Alexander told her, "Guess it was worse than I thought."

"Clearly," she replied facetiously, "How are things down there, by the way?"

"Not so good," he said, "It's…wrecked. Gonna be a lot of work just to get things up and running again. I'm not sure how long it's been since I was down there; I was out for a while. Things could be even worse. And Reynolds took heavy casualties in his department too. He's got a skeleton crew for a repair team. And…we lost Grakken."

"No," Miria breathed in disbelief. The Vice-Admiral was a seasoned veteran and a tragic loss. She absently wondered what kind of death toll the fleet was really looking at.

He nodded, sharing in her silent mourning, and then asked, "Are _you_ alright, Mems?"

"More or less; a little shaken up, I suppose."

"Yeah, it was a pretty wild ride."

"It's not that," Miria dissented, grabbing his arm, hauling him away from nosey ears, "there was a reason why I was so insistent the search teams find you -"

"Besides your obvious concern for my well being?" he jested.

"DaKen is on board."

His eyes went wide with astonishment. Alexander stammered the beginnings of a few questions. She sensed his feelings mirror her own. Miria held up a hand for him to stop and proceeded to enlighten him concerning their predicament.

"Is he still there now?"

"I…I don't know."

"Can we make it to your quarters on foot, or was the way blocked?"

"Were on the same deck, so I think so," Miria surmised. "But…I don't know."

With haste, Alexander moved quickly to the center of the room and spoke authoritatively, "Excuse me. Can I have everyone's attention please? I know many of you are injured and are attempting to recover and I apologize for disturbing you, but I need every able-bodied security officer available. Or any crewmember well enough to assist, for that matter."

"What is going on here?" the doctor in charge demanded, asserting his short frame in the shadow of Alexander's height.

"We have a serious breach of security."

"This is a triage situation, Commander," the doctor disputed indignantly. "These are patients, not commandos."

"And we may end up with a hostage situation, _Doctor_, if I don't get immediate backup."

The doctor took a step back, speechless, as Alexander silently dared him to protest.


	15. III: Eye of the Storm 2

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

**_EXCURSION GAMMA ~ _**_volume one_

III: Eye of the Storm

TWO

A'læ awoke with a start. She jerked, her breath catching in her chest. She was on her back, but as she tried to sit up, she found she could not. Her heart raced as she realized she was restrained. The straps were too tight to fight, let alone move. A'læ felt the quick onset of claustrophobia with a hint of hyperventilation. Inhaling shallowly thrice, she managed to breathe out. Her mouth was uncomfortably dry – she felt dehydrated – but she forced a sticky, painful swallow. Panting, her respiration slowly returned to normal.

As A'læ calmed, she was aware of her surroundings but did not quite yet have her bearings. Wherever she was, it was darkly lit and stank of smoke and something else. Her mind was befuddled and memory failed her.

"You wanna tell me how you got aboard this ship?"

A'læ blanched at the abrupt intrusion. The voice was harsh and a little gravely; it rumbled quietly in a low manner. The tone was accusingly condescending.

"What?" she mumbled. Her head hurt.

"How did you get here?" The question was curt.

"I…I don't know. I don't," she paused, "I don't remember."

"You don't remember," he repeated facetiously, a mocking laugh barely concealed.

She was silent, fear sneaking in.

"Why don't we try something else? What are you doing here?"

"Doing? I don't –"

"Why are you here?!" the faceless voice erupted. "What the hell are you doing on this ship? What was your purpose, your mission, your task?!"

"I…" she began. A'læ was surprised by how frightened she felt. Her voice caught and was almost a whine. "I don't know what you're talking about. I don't understand."

"Convenient."

Her heart continued to race and she felt herself become very upset. She felt weak and will it as she might, her mind would not work.

"What's…what's wrong with me? I feel –"

"Radiation poisoning."

"What?" She breathed the question brusquely.

"There's a treatment. Simple injection ought to cure your case, the doc says."

"Please," she requested softly.

"Oh! Now, I have something _you _want," he mocked. "Maybe _now_ you'll be more forthcoming."

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know," she strained to see her captor's face.

"I've already asked my questions," he said calmly, "I'm just waiting for the answers so I can let the eager doctor treat you."

"I already told you, I don't know what you're talking about. I don't know!" A'læ cried out, futilely thrashing. She felt the warmth of blood trickle down her upper lip from her nose.

He was unnervingly quiet for several minutes.

"I'm not sure I am who you think I am," she whispered.

"Oh, is that so? Who do I think you are? Why don't you just tell me who you really are so we can get this over with? I'm very busy. And I don't do patience."

"Lieutenant, A'læ," she began, and then listed of her service number and other personnel file details: typical POW spiel.

"Cut the bull," he spat, "The jig is up. So what is it: mutineer or impostor? Either way you're #$%ed."

"I am a loyal, valued, and decorated Starfleet Officer!"

"I'm well aware of who you're claiming to be, _Lieutenant._ I can see by your uniform what you're posing as and the nurses even discerned a name during your fever. It's impressive: you were able to keep up the charade even through your incoherence when the medics found you lying in crumpled mess on deck two, _Lt. A'læ. _It's funny, though, 'cause there is no one on the crew manifest by that name. And no one seems to know who you are."

A'læ was silent. She had nothing to say to that. She was having enough difficulty figuring things out for herself without being berated. Normally, her response would have been irate or smoothly intelligent. Her head swam beneath the throb in her temple; her head was chaos.

"Where am I?" she finally inquired emphatically, thoroughly confused.

"Your damned a$$ is strapped to a gurney in a busted up corridor outside Sickbay."

"What ship?!" A'læ demanded in a shriek, intolerant of his effrontery.

Again, there was silence between them.

A'læ heard shuffling and then a young male voice ask, "Is everything alright, Colonel?"

"We're _fine_ here, Treimer. Leave us."

There was more shuffling and then quiet once more.

"The_Barcelona__,"_ he whispered. His voice was closer this time; presumably he had taken a seat nearer to her bed.

A'læ breathed a sigh of relief at his statement. _I _am_ on a Federation vessel._

"We made it through okay?"

He laughed a short, morose chuckle. "Hardly."

"Colonel," she said with much effort, "My head…it…I can't think straight. If you could just give me…I was on, I was on the _Gallant. _There was…"

She saw bits and pieces, bursts of images. She winced at the sight of dead bodies strewn about every time she closed her eyes. Something cold pressed to her neck and she instinctively shied away, but the familiar tingle of a hypospray spread across her neck. The ache began to subside and she gratefully drifted off.

* * *

She was painfully beautiful, this supposed Lieutenant A'læ. Her otherworldly green eyes flashed when she spoke. A mass of dark tight curls wreathed her flawless face like a halo and the points of her ears delicately peaked from the coif. Her skin was a richly luscious honey caramel deeply dark and brilliantly light all at once. Despite the poison in her system, or perhaps due to it, she was radiant. He loved her in that moment.

"Sir, we've got him."

The fleeting frivolous notion passed as his true devotion retook captivation of his entire attention. Some might dare say he was obsessed, but it mattered not. What was done, could not be undone. What had begun could not end until it was over: kill or die.

"Treat her and lock her up. I'll be back."

Shoving through, he and his team sprinted for the shuttle bay.

* * *

Cradling a phaser-compression rifle in one's arms seemed calming and brought the warm satisfaction of safety. At least Alexander always thought so. He was never particularly fond of weapons, or violence for that matter. However, when the matter came to protection, he preferred to be the one with the bigger gun, or better yet, surrounded by heavily-armed comrades, as he was now.

Alexander was a strategist, a thinker. He liked to plan things out, detail by detail: painstakingly complex, and completely fool-proof. It was the execution that got to him, because things never go as planned. Then one has to make decisions in the heat of the moment, and the plan falls apart._ Arguably, though, risks are easier to take when all the ramifications have not been mulled over for days on end in the workings of my mind._ _Let's just do this by the book_, Alexander said to himself, _get in, get _him_, get out. Then turn him over so he's outta my hair._

The youthful but adept Lieutenant Commander was able to rally several to his cause. Leaving two behind – specifically for guarding the Ambassador – and arming several others to protect the makeshift infirmary, a detail of eight personnel had banned together to apprehend the fugitive and presumed saboteur.

Alexander, flanked by the only two actual security officers present – one Lieutenant Hardwick and a junior grade ensign by the name of Govencha – led a group of five towards Miria's quarters. Connelly, the scientist medic but a man of substantial stature, and the ungrateful Ensign Baxter – apparently a good shot – were among their numbers. Two more secured the surrounding sections and were strategically placed to lay down cover fire, if, and presumably when, necessary.

_And I do hope we have to shoot him_.

The lighting was off, so it was likely any locking encryptions Miria had used were no longer functional. Approaching her quarters, they could see the doors had slid apart several centimeters, but hardly enough for someone to squeeze through. His tricorder confirmed one lifesign inside.

_DaKen._

Silently, Alexander motioned for two of them to move to the opposite side of the entryway. He and Govencha then flanked the door. Alexander gave out several quick hand signals to his team. Poised at the ready, Lieutenant Hardwick waited for the sign. As the doors slid apart, she was on the move, with Alexander and the others behind her. The bright scopes of their rifles illuminated the room with a blinding glare.

Empty.

Adrenaline pumping and senses elevated, they stormed each chamber, and found nothing.

"All clear," came the report from each of the four quarters.

"Eyes wide," Hardwick barked.

Checking out each section himself, Alexander also found nothing. His tricorder, which had been running an active scan through the entire maneuver, showed no residual energy readings of a recent transport, nor any lifesigns in the surrounding areas. While saw evidence in the lavatory of the wound Miria mentioned, not even his scans picked up a blood trail.

* * *

Kaleb had had his fill of waking up with a headache in strange places. He was on a Federation shuttlecraft, that much he was sure of. As to how he got there, was another matter entirely. The last thing he remembered was shoving the unconscious cadet into a Jefferies-tube right before the force-field reactivated, trapping himself, and then…Beyond that it was all fuzzy, but he was sure there was something more. Perhaps his memory would return in time.

"Ah, you're awake."

Sitting up, Kaleb realized was lying on the floor in the rear compartment of the shuttle. It was a Type-2; those were snug with normal capacity, but this one was packed full: the ground littered with the unconscious and injured. Carefully navigating a path was the unexpected surprise of a very friendly and familiar face. It was his nurse from Deep Space Nine.

"Hi," he said, greeting his physician, "I wasn't expecting you."

"Glad to see you're feeling better, Lieutenant Vance," the fair-haired woman said, kneeling down beside him. She scanned Kaleb with her medical tricorder.

"Call me Kaleb," he insisted, "and I am, thanks again to your care, no doubt,"

"You're welcome, and I'll stick with Lieutenant for now," she smiled. Retrieving a hypo from her medkit, she began calibrating it for a dose of something.

"Fair enough. Sorry, I didn't catch your name the last time you were my nurse."

"Cavenaugh, Doctor Cavenaugh," she said, placing a very slight, but relatively unassuming, emphasis on her title as she administered his medication.

"Oh," Kaleb yelped, "Sorry, I didn't realize you were actually a Doctor. You seemed to be working for that extremely unpleasant woman back at the station and I assumed-"

"It's alright," Cavenaugh said, "you're forgiven."

"So, what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same," she replied.

"It's a long story."

"I can see you're out of uniform, Lieutenant, so I'm sure it is."

"How did I…" Kaleb began.

"We rescued you from an escapepod about three hours ago. You were unconscious and in bad shape, near death really."

"Escape-pod?" Kaleb asked. "I don't remember taking an escapepod."

"Well," the doctor shrugged, "that's where we found you. Your pod was adrift and we transported you aboard. That was back when we still had transporters. We barely have enough power for life-support with all the extra passengers, so the pilot tells me anyway."

"By any chance, was there a young man, a cadet, in the pod with me? Or maybe in another pod? His name is Koday."

She shook her head, "Sorry. There are several other escapepods out of our range. We couldn't reach them."

He frowned, disappointed.

_I hope the kid's alright_.

"So, we're on our way back to DS9 now, right?"

"No," she sniggered; there was a morbid air to the answer. "We're waiting here to be rescued. We don't have engines."

"Where is here?"

"As far as the pilot, not that he's doing much flying, can tell," Cavenaugh replied, "were in the middle of an empty pocket of an asteroid field."

"Asteroid field? What asteroid field? The Denorios belt?" Kaleb was quite confused.

"We don't know," she said, "it's where the rupture kicked us out."

"Rupture? What rupture?"

"The one that formed while we were traveling through the wormhole."

"Wormhole?! What wormhole? And what were we doing traveling through one, anyway?" asked Kaleb, incredulously. _This is getting ridiculous. _Doctor Cavenaugh looked at him skeptically, as if she could not understand why he would not know these things.

_Clearly_, Kaleb deduced, _I've missed a lot._

"You must have hit your head a lot harder than I thought," she said finally, "What ship are you assigned to?"

"The _Vanguard_."

"You must have been briefed," Cavenaugh insisted.

"Well," he drawled, "not yet I haven't, anyway. I knew we were headed for a deep space assignment for a few months. I imagine I would have been briefed, oh yesterday morning I guess it was, when I returned to duty. I mean before I went AWOL, that is."

"You're AWOL?" she exclaimed. "Absent with out leave? A court-martialable offense? "

"Hold on, now," Kaleb said, trying to calm her, "it's not like it sounds. It's a little more complicated than that. It's like…now don't go jumping to conclusions. Remember in the infirmary when you thought I was supporting illicit goods?"

The doctor crossed her arms, her eyebrows raised expectantly. The expression was remarkably reminiscent, but Kaleb was unsure from where he recognized it.

"Why don't you go first?" he suggested.

She seemed to ponder the idea for a moment and then conceded. After a brief synopsis of the mission, Cavenaugh began describing the disaster, "The other ships had already been pulled in. The _Deterrence_ had our ship in a tractor lock, towing us away. When our shields began to fail, Captain ordered all nonessential crew to evacuate the _Searchlight _and take refuge on the other ship."

"They beamed all of you over?" Kaleb asked incredulously, "Can't imagine _Deterrence _lowering their shields in those conditions, much less establishing a stable transporter lock."

"They didn't," she refuted, clearly perturbed that Kaleb kept interrupting. He just couldn't help it, never could. "They extended their shields around our ship long enough for shuttles and escapepods to reach them and so-"

"They probably evacuated your ship so they could transfer life-support to the shields. With both ships within one deflector-field, they could probably use both sets of shield-generators in tandem. That's genius."

"Yes, I'm sure it is," Cavenaugh retorted, "I wouldn't know, I'm a doctor not an engineer. I don't know what they did. We were just following orders. I was more concerned with getting our injured aboard the shuttle. Anyway, we had just left the shuttle bay when the _Searchlight'_s shields failed. I remember the pilot saying something about gravitational sheer. We, along with several escapepods, were pulled into the rift.

"We took some damage, but were alright, and began rescue operations immediately. We could only help those in transporter range, because, like I said, no engines. As for my ship and the other one, we don't know. _And_ here we are."

"Wow," Kaleb breathed, "So, where _is_ here?"

* * *

"What do you mean he wasn't there?" Miria demanded, exasperated. DaKen's newly discovered ability to inexplicably vanish was maddening.

"I mean," Alexander repeated, "he wasn't there. You're quarters were empty." Retrieving his tricorder, he played back the recording for her. She could see the blip indicating an individual in her quarters. She watched the approach, and then the blip disappearing. "The readings showed he was there, and then just gone," Alexander narrated, "No transporter, no indication of a cloak, he didn't physically sneak out, he was just gone. However he did it, he certainly didn't escape by conventional means."

Miria sensed something suddenly. With all the feelings of unrest and agitation among the understandably upset crew, it was hard to distinguish similar new ones. Her empathic abilities were slightly overwhelmed, but there was definitely pain. She was familiar with this particular sensation.

_Death_.

The entryway exploded open. Three armed males entered. Ensign Govencha had been standing guard at the door. Beyond the entry, she could see his lifeless body in the corridor. The trespassers targeted their guns and remained silent, as if waiting. She detected their malice and a disgusting sense of enjoyment. Behind them entered Miria's duplicitous fiancé, shouldering two imposingly oversized energy weapons.

_Why couldn't I sense him?_

"Everyone put your hands where we can see them," DaKen commanded in a frightening tone; one she had never heard from him. His wound had been dressed and he seemed unaffected by it, to Miria's chagrin. "No heroics or funny business, or these two die."

He leveled his weapons at Alexander and her. Fear and surprise was her first reaction, eyes widened, then anger and detest rushed in.

"Oh, hell no!" Miria erupted, charging towards him. Alexander forcibly stopped her.

"Slow down," he cautioned. His anger fed her own.

"I'm gonna kill 'im," she informed her friend through gritted teeth.

"Honey babe," DaKen cooed, dropping his barrel. "I was wondering where you went off to. So much for that medkit, huh?"

Miria could feel as well as hear the patients' murmuring, embarrassment fueling her rage. She watched silently, ignoring DaKen's words and mental advances, as his lackeys disarmed the other officers.

"Take her," DaKen ordered his men.

As they approached, Alexander stood his ground in front of her.

"Over my dead body."

"From one cliché to another," DaKen growled, "that can be arranged." His eyes twinkled with sadistic revelry.

[_Alex, don't,_] Miria pleaded telepathically, [_please._]

Alexander stared down DaKen's subordinate, nose to nose, unflinching, as the other two gruffly took Miria by each arm. Haphazardly, they tossed her to the floor at DaKen's feet. Pain jolted from her wrist, most likely sprained on impact. Miria forced back tears, not wanting to show weakness. Instinctively reacting to her harsh treatment, Alexander dove to break her fall, but received a boot in the chest from DaKen. DaKen's men then grabbed hold of Alexander.

"Careful, boys," DaKen told them, chuckling, "you wouldn't want to damage the goods. She's more valuable alive. And not for sentimental reasons: the ransom on the Federation Council's official liaison must be pretty hefty, wouldn't you say, dear?"  
Miria obstinately refused to answer, a disdainful look of contempt marring her face.

"Oh and blondy," DaKen jeered, "you're buddy says hi."

"What have you done with Kaleb?" he demanded, struggling futilely against his captors.

Sauntering over to Alexander, DaKen violently gripped his face and lifted it so that their eyes were level. His grin was menacing. Giving him several smarting smacks, DaKen let go and turned away. "He got in my way, so…" DaKen drew out his final word, leaving imagination to fill in the blank.

Miria no longer recognized this man she saw before her, scheming and cruel. Emotion boiled inside, fighting to be felt, to assert dominance. Grief and broken heartedness waged against fury and vengeance; betrayal coupled with self-doubt and loathing were confused by misguided and nonsensical hope. Fear and anger won out over the rest, but battled until she was so overwhelmed she was simply paralyzed.

"If you hurt him, so help me–"

Alexander's words were cut short; DaKen spun around with incredible speed and delivered a staggering backhand. Blood spurt from Alexander's lip, his head jerking perilously sideways. Miria shrieked, startled by the act.

"You'll do nothing," he snarled.

"Drop your weapons, now! Faces on the floor."

_What?_

It was like thrusting her hand into a live plasma conduit as she felt the atmosphere change. Miria could not believe the impeccable timing; a strike force of Federation Marines had sneaked into the room while DaKen was busy abusing his short-lived stolen power over the smattering of crewmembers. Several more soldiers followed by transporter. Two of them had hidden themselves among the critical patients. DaKen's three lackeys – distracted with restraining Miria and Alexander – were quickly and easily disarmed. The obvious leader jabbed his sidearm into the back of DaKen's head.

"Colonel Skahticus," DaKen sneered, turning around slowly and letting his twin rifles dangle at his side. The muscular marine remained silent. He gestured towards the floor with his gun's barrel.

Involuntarily, Miria gulped at the sight. They were a formidable pair. Her fiancé – or ex, she wasn't sure – a rippling tower of ebony muscle, unfazed by the severe wounds now heavily bandaged; he reeked of arrogance and scorn, a sneer set under fierce chocolate eyes. This new comer, their savior, the Colonel, with pale mottled skin that seemed papery thin and leathery thick all at once, was stout and sturdy. Pronounced ridges around his eyebrows, which ran up the side of his temples and disappeared into a dark and closely shaven hairline, seemed to intensify his grey-eyed stony gaze. His features strong, his appearance tough, his attitude rough-and-tumble, he carried the air of a well-disciplined and highly-skilled soldier. He had a cool confidence and a presence that easily rivaled his opponent. Miria was certain there would be bloodshed and she didn't know which side she was on.

"I don't think so," DaKen refused the Colonel's unspoken command, finally breaking the silence. He began backing away from the squadron that had the saboteurs surrounded. He took hold of a chain round his neck. DaKen's eyebrows were raised suggestively at Miria and he smiled mischievously as a scintillating glow enveloped him.

The remaining fugitives luminesced. Alexander, a step a head, dove for DaKen, but met empty air and then deck plating as they vanished.

DaKen had escaped yet again.


	16. III: Eye of the Storm 3

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

**_EXCURSION GAMMA ~ _**_volume one_

III: Eye of the Storm

THREE

"I don't like not knowing the goings-on aboard my ship," Admiral Montgomery was saying, rather heatedly. Colonel Skahticus was uncomfortably seated in the _Companion _ready-room. In the chairs adjacent his, were the fair and fairer Commander Erikssen and Ambassador Memlilia. Both the epitome of Starfleet so much it sickened him a little. "And make sure those hull breaches are completely sealed, not just patched. I don't want another mishap. And tell the chief I want a report every hour."

A twig of a human male wearing a red Starfleet uniform was frantically taking notes on a padd as Montgomery dictated. When he was sure the Admiral was finished, he scurried out of the ready-room like a frightened rodent.

"I apologize for that. Things are taking much longer without the comm; I'm not used to running a ship by pony express."

He took his place behind his desk, which was cluttered with bulkhead-debris and a small mountain of padds. Scrunching his eyes, he rubbed his temples. With a quick hand stroke, he cleared the detritus and placed his clasped hands atop it and smiled. "Miria, Alexander," he said warmly, pausing, "I'm glad to see you still with us. Colonel, you too. Thanks for joining us."

"Not a problem, Admiral," the Colonel replied simply.

"That's quite a nasty burn you have there," Montgomery noted, "You should get it looked it. And you're wrist too, Miria. I'll have someone come up…" he paused as he was about to call for someone and then winced when remembering their communications troubles.

"It will heal. It could have been worse," he assured the Admiral as he disconcertedly remembered his fiery tumble. Nodding towards Commander Erikssen, he continued, "Glad to see you came through alright, too."

A puzzled expression spread across Erikssen's face, his brow furrowing. He felt questioning looks from the Admiral and Ambassador as well. The Colonel refrained from gulping in regret. Fatigue had worn on him and his words had slipped. _He has no idea you saw him, _he scolded himself. _Nor would he recognize you from DS9. Of course he wouldn't!_

"They roughed you up pretty good," he covered. "You held your own."

"Yeah," Erikssen replied, still wondering. "Thanks…and thanks for the rescue, Colonel. It could have turned out much differently."

The Colonel only nodded and resolved to keep his mouth shut.

"We were very lucky you and your Marine's were on top of things," the Admiral added. "I'm glad I have the three of you here right now. We have ourselves a precarious situation and I'd like your input."

The Colonel was a little surprised by the notion. Summoned earlier than the other two, he had, at length, given the Admiral a detailed report of his hunt. Across the fleet, a dozen vigilantes had been gathered up. He was still gathering details and that's where he would prefer to be, not in a stuffy sit-down.

He was under the strictest of orders to reveal nothing during the meeting of their prior knowledge of the terrorists and their history with them. That would hardly be an issue since he thought it wildly inappropriate for the Ambassador to even be included in the discussion. The look of contempt was barely concealed whenever he looked at, thought of, or even heard her speak. _How anyone could be _involved_ with _him _is beyond me._

Before the aide had interrupted, Erikssen had already covered the logistical side of what went wrong in the wormhole. The Colonel enjoyed his succinct intelligence, but found him to be a little too bright-eyed and overly kind. _Nice guys_, he scoffed.

At Montgomery's request, the Colonel gave an abridged and censored version of his report on DaKen and his group. There was really little left he had to offer: a few figures and conjecture, strategies he was working on, and the like.

"It's really hard to say what they're up to at this point," the Colonel was saying, "but I'd wager something went wrong along the way."

"Terrorists," the Ambassador murmured. "Do you have any leads on whom or what they might represent?"

Montgomery pursed his lips and shook his head.

"I assume this is related to the incidents on DS9," she continued.

_Stupid woman. Of course they are._

She then relayed the information to the Colonel while he pretended to be enlightened.

"Miria…" Montgomery said slowly, "Is there…is there any additional information you might be able to offer? Anything you may have noticed: A perspective or a piece of information that could be useful?"

"No."

He nodded.

The Colonel was roiling; he was certain she would not be of any help.

"I want to keep this quiet," Montgomery said after a time

"I'd appreciate if you didn't even acknowledge it to the fleet as a whole," the Colonel said, already knowing the Admiral's edge. "There was an accident: accidents happen."

"With all due respect, sir, the crews aren't stupid," Erikssen said quietly with tact and poise. "Many of them saw and helped apprehend the saboteurs. And it's going to be difficult to skirt around the issue of the _Gallant _firing on us."

"Duly noted. This isn't a definite solution, but I'd like to give the Colonel time to work. Gossip spreads at warp speed and the last thing we need is our people turning on one another out of suspicion." the Admiral stated decidedly.

"It should be easy enough to avoid answering questions in the midst of the chaos of all the repairs, but not for long," the Ambassador added. "It might be wise to have a vague cover story ready to spin."

"I agree," Erikssen said. "We'll need something for the wormhole too. Experimental engine failure: designer error," he flashed a smile at that and continued. "I think it would be a good idea to count the _Barcelona _as missing in action and not as destroyed - that would be bad for morale – at least until we come clean about the rest."

The Admiral was silent as he mulled over the ideas.

"In the mean time," the Ambassador spoke up again, "I'd like to speak with one of the individuals you've captured. Perhaps I can learn something of value."

"Absolutely not," the Colonel objected, slamming his fist again his chair.

Montgomery gave him a look that said, "simmer," and then to the Ambassador, he told her, "I have something else in mind, but I appreciate your initiative."

It was obvious she was about to object, but before she could speak the Colonel was on his feet. "Admiral, I think I've contributed all I can here. I'm needed elsewhere."

"Dismissed, Colonel," he said with a knowing nod, "Thank you for your assistance."

As the Colonel approached the door, he heard a gasp of astonishment from the Ambassador and he smiled as the doors slid apart. He jerked when he felt a hand on his arm: it was Commander Erikssen. He shot a dirty look at the audacious move.

"Colonel," he whispered. "Thanks again for the rescue. I…I have a friend that was… possibly _taken…_by DaKen or one of his men. If you could…keep an eye out, maybe…I'd really appreciate it."

The Colonel's expression softened as he nodded slowly.

"His name is Kaleb…er, ah…Lt. Kaleb Vance. Human male about my height, your build…eh, not quite, tanned but white skinned, brown hair and eyes. Kinda obnoxious in an affable sorta way."

"I'll spread the word among my troops," the Colonel replied with a glimmer of empathy; the nice-guy routine was getting to him. "I'll keep my eyes open."

Erikssen smiled at him gratefully as the Colonel left.

* * *

The Bridge was in shambles, a hollow shell of its former splendor: EPS relays sparking, rubble from battered bulkheads, steamy clouds of fire-suppressant, loose conduits jutting out haphazardly. Several crewmen were scurrying about, making repairs. Commander Kelsa was the only officer present. However, instead of occupying the command chair, she was hunched over a console, working busily. Internal sensors and communications remained offline.

Alexander and Miria were making their way through the remains of the command center towards the briefing room. It lay opposite of Commodore's ready-room, from which they had just come. Admiral Montgomery had called for a meeting with the commanding officers of the fleet, or what was left of them. Miria would obviously be included. Alexander had been invited due to his intimate knowledge of the tetryon warp drive and of the saboteurs.

Without a viewport and the holographic simulation offline, the chamber was dismal. The lighting was hardly adequate, but it was far from the crippled starship's most pressing of needs. Captain Morgan sat at the opposite end of the large, rectangular table that filled the room. Graying hair was slipping from its bun, framing her face, which was stony and somber; her eyes were light-years away.

He and Mira joined her, silently. Noticing them, she mustered a warm smile and gave Alexander's hand a squeeze. The three had attended a briefing together not an hour earlier with the senior staff of _Companion_. As it was across the fleet, they had taken many casualties. Missing from their immediate ranks was the First Officer, Chief of Security, and Chief Medical officer. In times of crisis, such absences were white elephants. There would be time for mourning after they were all safe and sound. Still, Alexander felt the gnawing in his stomach. This mission had gone off with every hitch conceivable and still more unimaginable.

Only half the fleet had survived ejection from the catastrophe. With no sign of the _Deterrence_ or the _Searchlight_, they could only hope the two-_Akira _class vessels were able to make it safety through to the other side. Since they were beyond the range of the rift, it was possible, however unlikely, that _Deterrence _was able to tow them through. The _Gallant_ was presumed incinerated within the wormhole when their core breached or when her sister ship fired the high yield warheads into the rift.

As for the known survivors, the _Barcelona_ was adrift. Rescue and damaged control teams had been dispatched. Given the resources of her much larger fellow ships, it would be up and running in no time. _Companion_ and _Achilles_, though significantly damaged, in the scheme of what they could fix themselves, were only a little worse for wear. The _Vanguard_ on the other hand…

There was also the precarious matter of safely extracting the _Vanguard _from the _Achilles _without inflicting anymore damage to either vessel, though the latter ship took priority at this point. To add hazard to harm, the _Achilles,_ her core at critical, was forced to eject it. Under normal circumstances, a ship without a warp core would be effectively stranded, being limited to sublight travel only, and lacking sufficient power to defend itself.

Alexander, being intimately familiar with the _Prometheus-_class, knew _Achilles _was in an unusual predicament. That particular class of starship was equipped with three warp-reactor modules specifically to augment its unique defensive and offensive systems. The primary warp core – the one lost – consisted of two of the modules; it allowed for sustain warp flight and powered general functions. _Achilles' _remaining core kept the ship running, but was insufficient.

_Like a weak heart, too small to for its body, working overtime, _Alexander reflected.

In addition to their collective troubles, the antimatter explosion ignited a volatile asteroid, expelling a cloud of irradiated gas through the expanse like a nebula. It swirled around their position like a haunting storm, a noxious green in hue; turgid veins of torrid oranges snaked through it concealing dangerous pockets of superheated plasma. Occasional discharges, like lightning on the horizon, disrupted the duplicitous serenity.

However, the empty pocket of space in the midst of the flotilla of rock remained clear. Whether it was by the gravitational field of the asteroids, or the residual effects of the rupture, they were not sure. The fleet was protected in this clearing.

_For now, anyway._

Except, unlike most docile nebular phenomena, the gas was highly toxic and corrosive; it had also shown to be highly reactive to Federation technology. Glitches were cropping up all over the fleet. Sensors and comm systems had proven useless thus far.

* * *

The rupture that had so forcibly dumped them into the asteroid field was only a diminutive specter of its earlier awful magnitude. So greatly faded, it seemed only a distraction on the periphery, a visual distortion spanning a fraction of what it once did. The occasional discharge from subspace was a sort of petulant reminder of its volatile presence. One burst had unexpectedly brought with it the surprise of several shuttlecraft and escapepods. As the beast rescinded, the tiny vessels languidly reversed until hanging listlessly suspended at its threshold.

The puerile cadet remained vigilant at his post at the viewport of his escapepod; he could only fear the worst for the new-comer-vessels' occupants. Drifting aimlessly, thrice he had harmlessly collided with asteroids. Koday had been able to ascertain that his power reserves had been severely drained during ejection. All primary and secondary systems had been damaged, beyond what he could repair, though try as he might.

There were sufficient emergency reserves to power life-support for a few more hours, but not many. Lowering the oxygen ratio as far as he dared, and deactivating the artificial gravity, Koday hoped to extend his chances of survival and rescue. He had seen movement in the fleet, but no one came near to him.

To make matters worse, Koday had discovered a nasty laceration on his left shin. With absolutely no means of cleaning the wound, the obvious infection was becoming serious. The compartment that should have contained a medkit and emergency rations was empty. His thirst aside, the cadet would have liked a few drops of water for his burning leg.

Absently, Koday wondered of the Lieutenant, his rescuer, as he drifted into oxygen-deprecation slumber, floating in the deceptively serene, weightless environment.

* * *

It was astounding.

Miria recognized few of the faces at the table. Excluding those from her own ship, only D'Landrii of the _Achilles _was familiar. The Captain had reported he was the sole survivor of his ship's senior officers. Of one hundred forty-one, they lost forty-three; nearly a third of his crew. His acting First Officer, a female lieutenant, was present.

A Lieutenant Mhamenta Zhade, _Vanguard's _TO, was now the ranking officer on her ship. An ensign had accompanied the rather young Tiburonian female. Her ship had been devastatingly dealt an estimated 200 fatalities out of nearly 700. The loss of Captain Tevek and Commander Tal was a blow that weighed heavily not only on the fleet, but on the Commodore as well. During _Companion's_ staff meeting, it had been discussed that Morgan should take charge of the _Vanguard_ given its present void of command experience.

With _Searchlight _and the _Deterrence_ MIA, and the _Gallant_ gone, only the _Barcelona_ remained to be represented. Lt. Commander Baltezaad, the ship's First Officer, came alone. Despite heavy external damage, they lost only three, their Captain numbering among those. However, of Baltezaad's sixty remaining crew members, half had been incapacitated by a radiation leak; though, they were expected to recover.

The _Companion's_ own roster had shrunk sizably, from 857 down to roughly 700, though headcounts were still sporadically coming in. Selfishly, she admitted to herself, Miria was thankful that she had been unconscious for such an extended period. Being actively aware of so many traumatic deaths transpiring would have been extremely unpleasant to say the least.

_Some emotion should not be shared._

The meeting was now well underway. Per Montgomery's request, Alexander had adeptly briefed the gathering concerning the accident within the wormhole. He and Miria also apprised them of their knowledge of the saboteurs, including the invaluable intelligence from the insufferable Colonel Skahticus. Morgan outlined the working theories they had comprised.

"Have we got a fix on our position, yet?" Lt. Commander Baltezaad was asking.

"Roughly," Montgomery replied, "My helmsman's figured an approximate bearing. Heavy interference from this nebula and that subspace rupture is screwing with our sensors, but stars are stars; it just took some time to pinpoint familiar constellations."

"Well?" Zhade asked.

"You're not gonna like this, people," the Admiral said, folding his hands. "We're over eight-hundred light-years off course."

Captain D'Landrii let out a low whistle. No one seemed to have much to say.

"That puts us well outside of Dominion territory," Miria finally noted, ending the silence.

Montgomery nodded. Knowing the Admiral, he was already several steps a head in his thinking, but wanted to hear input from these – even if it was just out of courtesy – before acting.

As opinions and questions began to flow, the discussion unraveled.

"We should head for the Dominion's side of the Bajoran Wormhole," Baltezaad insisted, "rendezvousing with the rest of the fleet and returning to the Alpha Quadrant is our best bet."

"That trip will take a year," Alexander pointed out. "At maximum warp, several months at the very least. That's going _through_ Dominion-occupied space, if I might add."

"That's also assuming the other two ships survived at all," Morgan reminded them.

"We don't even know if the wormhole is intact," Alexander added. "The subspace matrix of the verteron tunneling phenomenon was in all likelihood obliterated. The odds of us even surviving ejection were astronomical; entering normal space, well that was absurd. I can't begin to express how infinitesimal the possibility is that the wormhole survived, much less if it's still stable, or even leads back to the Alpha Quadrant."

The veracity blanketed the briefing room in hostile, contemplative silence.

"What would you have us do then?" Baltezaad demanded. "Rot here?"

"There were bound to be set backs on this mission," someone said. "They were to be expected, albeit, not to this severity. We should repair the fleet, consolidate our resources, and continue on."

"We're hardly in the situation to be on a diplomatic excursion or a rescue mission," Zhade refuted timidly.

"With the two of your ships limping behind us at impulse?" Baltezaad sneered at D'Landrii and Zhade, "No, I don't think so."

The squabbling continued for several minutes before Montgomery stood and slammed his cup down on the table vehemently, old coffee splashing out on the table.

"Enough," he said quietly. "I'll not have us bickering among ourselves like scared little first-year cadets. My senior staff aboard this ship outranks the lot of you. If we can't work together, then you can be replaced. I need a lineup that works together and does it well."

Montgomery looked about, his eyes challenging the officers. D'Landrii and Morgan reinforced the gaze, the two captains having been silent since the arguing ensued.

"Alright," he said, retaking his seat, "Mr. Erikssen is correct. My staff has already been over the wormhole concept, it's a done deal."

"What about reentering through the rupture-" Baltezaad began.

"I said," Montgomery interrupted brusquely, "it's a done deal. Commander, I don't like to repeat myself. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, meekly.

"Now, I'll be happy to pass on our findings about that deathtrap of an idea you just suggested. In the meantime, let's get down to business."

Captain Morgan rose and activated a rather large wall display. It flickered, but was functional. It showed a spatial grid, zooming in on their current space. The asteroid field, thanks to the reconnaissance of Colonel Skahticus and his contingent of Federation Marines, proved to be several thousand kilometers in diameter. Numerous unidentified populated systems were several light-years out. A binary system, the closest, was highlighted. Morgan magnified the display to reveal a small moon orbiting one of the system's planets.

"Meet the Ly Jadai," Admiral Montgomery said, "this is a small colony on the edge of their territory. Our scouts made contact with the LyJadicean Imperion nearly a year ago."

"I wasn't aware we had made such extensive exploratory advances into this quadrant," Alexander remarked.

"Officially, we haven't," Morgan replied, altering the display to show the extent of LyJadicean reach: their space was massive, much larger than the Federation. "The scout ships were precursors to our own excursion."

"First contact went surprisingly well," Montgomery added, "they were more than willing to let our fleet pass through their space, with few restrictions, and even promised to be quite hospitable during our journey. The Ly Jadai were excited about the prospects of cultural exchange.

"The way I figure it we're three months ahead of schedule, granted a little off course, but the two months it will take to put us back where we mean to be will have cut five months of our trip. We hadn't expected to pass through this region of the Imperion's domain, and our early arrival at their backdoor will no doubt come as a surprise. However, I'm confident they'll be most helpful. Ambassador Memlilia will take a delegation to the colony and begin diplomatic relations."

Miria nodded, already aware of this assignment.

"Meanwhile," the Admiral continued, "we'll be investigating the accident and saboteurs under the guise of repairs. It's obvious they had a lot of help."

"You don't suspect our own people?" Lt. Commander Baltezaad scoffed.

This meeting had just begun, Miria concluded. Several clues had cropped up before they had even embarked, but all had been dead-ends. There was no doubt guilt and blame would follow in the aftermath among those who now felt the disaster could have been prevented. Montgomery had voiced earlier that he was sure the plot ran deep into places they were no longer able to investigate, now cut off from their beloved Federation.

* * *

"Dismissed," Admiral Montgomery stated, rising from the table. His people began scattering, conferring among themselves. Gathering his padds, the elderly man saw Lt. Commander Erikssen approach. The handsome young man had certainly been a welcome surprise, proving to be an asset.

"Sir,"

"Just the man I wanted to see," Montgomery told him.

"With your permission," he said, "I'd like to join Commander Kelsa's team in the repair work on the comm system. I think I've come up with an idea to-"

"No can do," Montgomery interrupted, "I've got a special assignment for you."

"Oh?"

"I want you to lead the mission to the colony. Miria's going to need an experienced officer to command her vessel. I've ordered a healthy sized security team to accompany her, but I'd feel a lot better if she had some support in the way of leadership, firepower, and a swift get away if things go south. I can't think of a more perfect candidate to test our new runabout than her designer himself."

"Yes, sir," Erikssen replied, grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you, sir."

"Dismissed."

The young man hurried away to prepare for the mission, a bounce in his step.

"Oh, and Commander," Montgomery called after him, "be sure to pass on your findings about the comm system to Kelsa."

"Will do, Admiral," and he was out the door.

Except for Baltezaad, D'Landrii, and their respective guests, the room had cleared.

"Ry," Montgomery called to Captain D'Landrii, "a moment of your time?"

His old friend excused himself from the chat and began walking with the Admiral.  
"Join me for a cup of coffee in my ready room?"

"You have replicators back online already?" D'Landrii inquired, knowingly.

"Probably not," Montgomery admitted, gesturing towards the door of his office. Once inside the privacy of the Commodore's ready-room, Montgomery and Captain D'Landrii took seats on the large sofa adjacent to the desk. This chamber was also spartanly dull without the glow of the holographic view. No viewport was a terrible design flaw in Montgomery's opinion.

"Something on your mind, Charles?"

"Oh, about a hundred things," Montgomery exhaled, "What do you think about all this?"

"I suppose it's not the most dire straits we've been in," D'Landrii remarked optimistically, "Our demise isn't imminent, as far as we know. Although, in all likelihood, that subject will be back on the docket anytime now, I'm sure."

"Yes, the saboteurs," the Admiral mused, "Of all the audacity, to thwart a rescue mission. I'd say someone's got a mind to get a hold of this fancy new starship. Heck of a way to do it though: haul it in, in shambles. Either they're very good with an outlandish plan, or things went very wrong."

"I think it was a wise move to appear like we're not looking for them," D'Landrii remarked. With his shockingly light hair and amber, cat-like irises, the man had always carried an aged look. Montgomery finally felt he had grown older than his friend.

"I've worked with Colonel Skahticus before," Montgomery said, "if the cowards are anywhere within this fleet, his men will find them."

"I admit I had my doubts about bringing along Federation Marines," D'Landrii replied, "but Baltezaad vouches for them, says they've been invaluable to his ship thus far."

"Baltezaad." Montgomery repeated disdainfully, "Ry, he's the one I'm having doubts about. It was Nakamura that vouched for him, and now that Baltezaad's captain is dead…well, I have qualms about him commanding a vessel in my fleet."

"He'll come around," D'Landrii reassured, "As for Lieutenant Zhade…"

"Ah yes, Zhade. Chipper young thing isn't she?"

"Young being the operative word: what fortune she's come into, rising to the position of acting-captain of a _Sovereign-_class starship so early in her career. I would back up any decision you might come to concerning her retention of control."

"Does my old First Officer have some advice for me?" Montgomery queried with a smirk.

"A strategic command replacement," he said, choosing his words slowly and carefully.

"You think she's involved somehow, _or_ you're bucking for reassignment?"

"No on both counts," D'Landrii answered, "Aisha."

"Put Captain Morgan in charge of the _Vanguard? _My thoughts exactly," Montgomery said, stroking his silver goatee, "unless we abandon her altogether, the _Vanguard_ I mean."

"Abandon," D'Landrii repeated, obviously not expecting his suggestion, "has it really come to that? _Vanguard _is a ship of the line. Charles, I'd have to question the wisdom in such a decision. While _Achilles_ is an experimental warship that we could not afford to allow to fall into enemy hands, the _Vanguard_ is on par with _Companion_'s cutting-edge technology, and they still have a warp core."

"It's doubtful the _Vanguard _will ever be able to go to warp again," Montgomery retorted. "Besides the insurmountable structural instability of the vessel, with one nacelle they just couldn't keep pace with the rest of us. The fact is she just can't sustain her crew."

"What would you have us do: cannibalize her for parts?" he asked incredulously.

"If it comes to that, yes. I want you to look into modifying the _Vanguard_'_s_ warp core to augment your remaining module . Keep it under wraps, but make it your highest priority."

"Aye, sir," D'Landrii conceded. "There is one other matter concerning the _Vanguard_. Her crew never signed on for this mission. They all expected to be home in a few months."

"There's nothing we can do about that now," Montgomery replied resolutely. "We're all in the same boat and they're just gonna have to be folded into our ranks."

Captain D'Landrii nodded and rose, "I should be getting back to my ship."

Montgomery walked his old friend and one-time first officer to the door. Pausing he said, "After that insightful meeting, I've decided to restrict access to any files concerning the sabotage to you, Aisha, and myself. I wanna feign ignorance on this one, for now."

"And what of the evidence?"

"The official report: it was an accident; anything out of the ordinary was caused by the accident, including the _Gallant's _actions. The intruders are raiders from this asteroid belt."

"Of course," he said, "I'll spread the word."

"Ry," Montgomery said, stopping him. He extended his hand. "I'm glad you're safe."

Accepting his handshake, D'Landrii smiled and left.


	17. III: Eye of the Storm 4

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

**_EXCURSION GAMMA ~ _**_volume one_

III: Eye of the Storm

FOUR

There's quite a bit of activity within the fleet, now," Kaleb told Doctor Cavenaugh. He and Crewman Dûr, were on rotating shifts at the helm of the overcrowded shuttlecraft. The air was musky and breathing had become a chore. The little craft was not designed to sustain so many for such an extended period. With primary systems already damaged and their power resources significantly drained, the life-support systems were working over time to keep up.

"Lieutenant, why haven't they come for us?" Cavenaugh asked, mopping her brow.

"I don't think they know we're here," Kaleb admitted. "It's those gases: we're still too close. I think they're concealing our position."

"I though you said you moved us clear of them?"

"Not far enough, I guess," he said.

"Well, can we contact them?" Cavenaugh suggested.

"That little burst of momentum I was able to coax out of the engines burned up a lot of juice," Kaleb told her, "Lemme see if I can reroute some of the remaining power into the subspace transceiver."

"Isn't that what's supplying us with air, Lieutenant?"

"Well, yeah Doc," he said, continuing his work, "but if they don't find us were gonna run out air eventually anyway."

"Eventually, yes," Cavenaugh repeated, putting her hand on the console Kaleb was working at, blocking him. "We need to try to hold out for as long as possible."

_Oh no she did not._

"You didn't just put your hand there?" Kaleb asked rhetorically, brushing her arms out of the way, "'cause that's where I was working."

Doctor Cavenaugh looked mortified. Kaleb just grinned.

"I...uh…well," she stammered, "we really can't risk the power drain, Lieutenant, in my, uh, professional opinion."

"Your professional opinion," Kaleb mocked, laughing aloud. "Leave the engineering to me, _Doctor_. You stick to medicine."

"I'll have you know I'm well versed in a variety of areas," the doctor's rebuttal was flustered, "I took several engineering courses at the academy. Just because I'm a doctor doesn't mean I don't know anything about anything else; I am a Starfleet officer after all."

"Okay, okay," Kaleb mollified with an amused smile. He always enjoyed a good argument and was just getting started, but it was clear she was already riled up. Cavenaugh was a nervous woman. "Doc, you said yourself a lot of these people are in bad shape. The sooner we're found, the sooner they'll get the help they need."

"And you leave the medicine to me," Cavenaugh's raised voice was drawing denigrating attention from her patients, "There are several with concussions. If they fall asleep, they could slip into brain damaging comas. If life-support loses anymore power and the oxygen ratio drops any lower, I'm going to start losing patients."

"Your patience is the least of my-"

"Patients! As in people!"

"Oh," Kaleb retracted, "fair enough. So you wanna sit and wait?"

"I have an idea," Doctor Cavenaugh told him, looking past him towards the green cloud. _Who does that reminded me of? _Kaleb wondered where he had seen that glassy-eyed gaze.

* * *

"Be careful with those power couplings, and you, make sure that's calibrated properly!"

Alexander was standing in the _Companion's _shuttle bay overseeing the launch prep. With arms crossed, and practically beaming, he was barking out orders. The runabout, roughly forty meters, by twenty meters, by ten meters, towered over the other embarked craft. Repair teams were just finishing up their work; minor damaged had been sustained, nothing too serious.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Turning about he saw Miria, loaded down with luggage and wearing a puzzled frown.

"Prepping my ship."

"You mean my ship?"

"Well," Alexander said, handing her his orders, "the Admiral's asked me to supervise your little diplomatic outing."

"What?!" Miria dropped her things and began scrutinizing the padd. "This can't be right. I am perfectly capable of running this operation."

Alexander shrugged and flashed a playfully innocent smile.

"Is this it?" she inquired. Her voice oozed with false disdain, a hand on her hip and an accusing finger pointing at the runabout.

"Yes, this is it," Alexander retorted defensively, picking up her luggage, "I'll let that slide, but only because you're so upset about me tagging along."

Miria rolled her eyes at him and strolled towards the runabout.

"Hmm, well I suppose it will have to do, though it is smaller than I thought," she reflected aloud, maintaining her banter.

"Get on board."

"I'm still in charge. And I'm not calling you Captain."

"We'll see."

* * *

A disjointed and fractured light fixture, hanging askew, flickered, casting occasional illumination into the battered, barren quarters. There were no viewports and only one entry – locked – into the Spartan, rectangular space. The mangled remains of two bunks lay twisted and tangled in the far corner. The floor was strewn with random debris.

A'læ paced fervently. After being treated for radiation poisoning by _Barcelona_'s doctor, she had been locked away in the cramped little room to await the return of her interrogator, the Colonel. Seven hours later, she paced. No food, no water, no visitors, no guard, no word.

The predicament had given A'læ far too much time for silent contemplation. As her thoughts had begun to wander from the present, there was a pang of guilt for her lack of remorse over her lost shipmates. She had been on board the _Gallant_ for less than six hours and met less than ten crewmembers before it was hijacked and subsequently lost.

A vivid and detailed scenario played out in her mind as she scripted each meticulous move of how she would break out, painfully injure whatever guards there might be, and escape completely undetected. That, however, would not lend aid to her innocence. No, she would do this hard way, the right way.

Presently, her only hope was that someone had paid heed to her raucous outcries when she was being forcibly restrained during her treatment and armed-escort into solitary confinement. A'læ had demanded someone speak to Vice-Admiral Grakken on her behalf, knowing he would vouch for her, only to learn of his unfortunate end during the disaster. That had stumped her, but, perhaps the message would get through to someone, _Barcelona__'s _captain at the very least. She hoped.

* * *

Peeking her head through the entry, Miria surveyed her surroundings. Even on a vessel as small as this one, she had somehow managed to get turned around, yet again.

_Large forward viewport, consoles, but no Captain's seat_, she noted to herself. _Hm, can this be the Bridge?_

"Miria!" A voice called from behind her, "All set to go?"

Alexander had snuck up on her again. Miria was determined to figure out how he was shielding his thoughts so well. She followed her friend and co-mission leader into the chamber.

"Whenever you are, _Lieutenant_ Commander."

"Well," Alexander queried eagerly, gesturing about at the ship, "whadya think?"

Miria shrugged nonchalantly. His head snapped sharply towards her, his eyes piercing.

"It's fine I suppose," Miria told him with a laugh, "All joking aside , I'm impressed. I've been curried on my fair share of ships and this one is definitely a cut above."

Alexander beamed, but as a female ensign in red entered and saluted, his countenance fell.

"Reporting for duty, Ambassador."

"Welcome aboard," Miria said smugly, glancing at Alexander to let him know she had been recognized as the senior officer and he had not been, "Commander, allow me to introduc-"

"Ensign Baxter," he said curtly, "we've met. Take your station, Ensign, we're about to get underway. Sorry there's not a Big Chair for you, Ambassador; it's a lean ship. You can sit over there at the Science Station if you'd like to join us on the Bridge."

"Of course," Miria replied, maintaining their professional tone. She took a seat at the off-to-the-side console, while Alexander and the Ensign manned the forward stations.

"All hands report ready," Baxter told Alexander.

He nodded and busied himself at his console, for a few moments. Jumping up quickly, he leaped to another console and then returned to his seat just as quickly. After a moment, leaned forward as he excitedly pressed the comm switch, "_Solara_ to the Bridge."

"Go ahead, Commander," it was Admiral Montgomery.

"With your permission, sir, we are ready for launch."

"Permission granted, son," Montgomery said, lightheartedly. "Just make sure you bring her back in one piece, son."

"Will do, sir," Alexander smiled, "Not one scratch, you have my word."

"I was referring to the Ambassador," he chuckled, "Give her my best wishes, won't you."  
"She heard you, Admiral."

"Oh, by the by, Kelsa extends her thanks. Your ingenuity with the comm was a big help."

"Not problem, sir," Alexander replied, "It was my pleasure."

"Well, then, you have a go for launch."

"Thank you, sir. Keep a light on for us and a docking bay open."

"Will do. Good luck and Godspeed."

The transmission ended; Alexander, flashing a smile to Miria, said "Take us out, Ensign."

The lithe vessel rose from the deck and came about to face the towering shuttlebay doors that were slowly sliding apart. Swiftly, the _Solara _disembarked – the force-field crackling blue as they traversed it – and jetted across the clearing away from the fleet.

* * *

A'læ heard commotion in the corridor outside her dismal accommodations. It was the first disruption in the never ending humdrum silence that had begun hours earlier. Try as she might, sleep evaded her and so had she sat in simple contemplation. From her place on the floor where she reposed, reclining against the bulkhead adjacent the double-paned entry, A'læ rose quickly. Turning about so she knelt with an ear against the door, she strained to hear.

"…is completely unacceptable and inappropriate I might add."

"Oh, _do _shut up!" The second voice A'læ thought sounded familiar. The words were muddled afterward. When they next spoke, the sounds came from directly outside her make-shift cell, it startled her and she was on her feet.

"Yes, sir, I understand," said a new, and much younger voice. He was brazen, but intimidated. "But I'm under strict orders to release her to no one until the Colonel has had a chance to interrogate her himself."

"I am _ordering_ you to open this door, Sergeant_. _Do it now!"

"With all due respect Captain," the younger one paused. "We are _Federation_ Marines and don't answer to Starfleet. I report directly to the Colonel only and through him the Admiral."

"Of all the impudent, insolent, sanctimonious…" the familiar voice growled. "Get him out of my sight! And _someone_ open this damn door!"

There was a fair amount of shuffle, but to A'læ's chagrin the door did not open.

"Listen up! As long you as you eat our food, drink our water, sleep in our beds, and are afforded the protection of our ships you _will_ respect _our_ chain of command. If this door isn't open in thirty seconds, I'll have you all blown out an air lock – "

"You can't do that. And this is my ship. I'll handle th– "

"I thought I told you to shut it, Baltezaad. Just because you're in charge here by default, don't ever make the mistake that this is _your_ ship."

Several unintelligible, gasping sounds followed.

Then, to A'læ's most grateful delight, the doors slid open. In strolled Captain D'Landrii, followed by, she presumed, the deposed Baltezaad. Several security officers followed while a handful of Marines were scattered in the hall uncomfortably.

"Lieutenant," D'Landrii said cordially, but with a mixed air of formality and familiarity, "it's good to see you're not too much worse for wear."

"Thank you, Captain." A'læ said simply and respectfully. While not ungrateful, she was surprised and a little angry for the man initially responsible for her grievous exile to the _Gallant_. D'Landrii waved the detail out and the doors closed, leaving her alone with him and Baltezaad. "I certainly can't wait to hear found your way here. You always were resilient." D'Landrii remarked, eyeing her with an intrigued smile. A'læ swallowed uncomfortably and nodded in compliance. He then asked, "We're you badly mistreated?"

"I.." she glanced at the other man.

She had three choices: tattle-tell the truth; lie and forget it all; or tell the truth by lying, thus giving her the advantage and making her look brave, noble and strong, meanwhile casting a very sallow light on the imbeciles responsible for her inconvenience.

"Nothing illegal, sir."

D'landrii's angular amber eyes narrowed further; following her well placed words, he nodded slowly. "We'll hear all about it soon enough. Transporters are still acting up so there's a shuttle waiting to take us back to the _Achilles_. A'læ, I never should have…never mind that, you'll be where you belong shortly."

The Captain motioned for them to depart, but then paused and took hold of Baltezaad firmly by the arm. Leaning his face close to the dark man, he whispered, "If you _ever _disrespect me or let anyone under your command disobey me like that again, I swear I pop those pretty little pips off your neck so fast it'll make your head spin. And, so help me, you'll _never, never, _rest your portly haunches in another big-chair for the rest your life. So help me, Baltezaad, so help me." D'Landrii then patted him gruffly on the back and brushed by.

"Let the Colonel know I'll be speaking with him," D'Landrii added over shoulder. He stopped and turned around. "I defended him and his Marine's presence in the fleet as well as _your_ merit to the Admiral. Should I change my position?"

"No, sir."

D'Landrii cocked his head, regarding him, and left. A'læ quickly followed, a satisfied smile stretching over her lips, leaving a baffled Baltezaad with much to think about.

* * *

"Let's see what this glorified shuttlecraft can do," Baxter said, accelerating the _Solara_ to maximum sublight velocity. The runabout was fighting to break free of the rupture's pull.

"Excuse me," Alexander said from his seat adjacent. He was offended.

"What?"

"Glorified shuttlecraft," he repeated, "that's hardly an apt euphemism."

"That's what it is," the ensign insisted, flatly, "Runabouts are just the next step up from a shuttlecraft."

"They most certainly are not," Alexander shot back defensively.

"Come on, it's not as though they're actually starships."

"That's exactly what they are!" Alexander retorted.

[_Easy,_ _Alexander,_] he heard Miria's voice in his head, using his full first name.

_Shh._

"It's an embarked craft. If it fits in a shuttle bay," she said, "it's not a starship."

"Each runabout is issued its own registry number. Shuttlecraft are not. The _Solara _is a self-sustaining, autonomous vessel."

"A support vessel," Baxter countered, "just like every other little dinghy that fits neatly inside the real ships; that's all it is."

"Shuttlecraft, wave-riders, captain's yachts, worker-bees, fighters, any other little ship you can think of all carry the insignia, name, and registry number of its parent residence;" Usually amiable to agree to disagree, Alexander was determined to convince the ensign of his point-of-view, "runabouts do not. In fact, the _Yellowstone_-class runabout out guns, out runs, and overshadows any other embarked craft in the fleet."

"Embarked equals dependent."

"It's a matter of convenience," his voice had become high pitched, "the _Solara _is here to support the _Companion_ mission as a whole. Besides, the _Defiant_, _Saber_, and _Venture_ classes can all be docked and thus, by your own definition, be considered an embarked craft and not a starship. Would you call the _USS Defiant_, a leader in the Dominion War, a shuttlecraft?"

"You're really defensive about this?" she remarked with a hint of condescension.

"That's because he's the designer," Miria interjected. Alexander shot her an angry glance. "Ah," Baxter said with the voice of epiphany, "I see. It all makes sense now."

"Just fly the ship."

_Solara _had finally cleared the asteroid field and was circling several hundred kilometers above it. Baxter was about to jump to warp, but Alexander stopped her.

"Would you look at that?" he said, peering out the forward viewport. "Incredible."

Rising to join them; Miria, holding onto Alexander's chair-back, tried to get a better view.

"Baxter, what's our heading?" Alexander asked, returning his attention to the controls.

"Three-twenty-five by fifteen," she replied, uninterested.

"Okay," he said, "adjust to two-seven-oh mark two-seven-oh."

The runabout swerved quickly to port as the nose dropped. The vast view of the field filled their sight. Stretching across space for almost as far as they could see was the gaseous cloud encompassing the asteroid cluster.

"It's enormous," Miria breathed.

"By my readings its tens of thousands of kilometers in diameter," Alexander reported. "The gases have completely permeated the entirety of the asteroid field, but have gone no further. The data reads a lot like a nebula, except we caused this, so its not, but what's really strange is the empty space where the fleet is. It's untouched; not a particle of toxic vapor to speak of."

"Interesting," Miria remarked, looking over his shoulder at the sensor data, "What do you think is causing it?"

"Who cares?" Baxter answered. They ignored her.

"Well, the subspace rupture has almost dissipated," Alexander replied, poring over the telemetry, "but it may have acted as a gravitational anchor when it first formed."

"It appears to have a steady rotational flow. Do you think the cloud has stabilized enough to where it no longer needs the rupture to maintain its current properties?" Miria inquired.

"It's hard to say. We won't know until the rupture fully seals," Alexander said. Watching the massive swirling mass of noxious green gas, his memory was churned. "Ya know, it reminds me of…have you ever seen a hurricane?"

"A what?" the Betazoid asked. The ensign shrugged as well.

"It's a type of tropical storm on my homeworld," he said, his eyes not leaving the cloud, "I once saw one form. During my second year at the academy, we were running flight simulations over the Gulf of Mexico, high enough so that the sky wasn't baby-blue anymore. Out across the Atlantic Ocean, the storm was moving in.

"It was one of the most breathtaking sights I'd ever seen: Big, white, frothy clouds, with arm-like appendages, hundreds of kilometers wide, swirling around a center point. They have what is called an eye: it's a sort of a calm place in the middle of the storm. Completely serene and quiet, it's like an axis for the beast. In the days before meteorological technologically, people would prematurely emerge from their shelter thinking the hurricane had passed, only to be taken off guard by the much more violent back-sweep. 'Course in the case of my little hurricane, Atmospheric Control shut it down before it could do any type of real damage."

"An apt description," Miria said as they watched the slow churn of the noxious cloud, their fleet nestled safely in the eye. Alexander could not help but wonder if they also were in the calm: they had safe harbor for the moment, but would the storm surge be upon them again, without warning or relent.

"Ensign, set a course for the colony, Warp Four," he said, interrupting his reverie, "engage."


	18. III: Eye of the Storm 5

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

**_EXCURSION GAMMA ~ _**_volume one_

III: Eye of the Storm

FIVE

Treading carefully, he dodged quietly from shadow to shadow. Bits of detritus floated erratically in the zero-g environment. With sidearm poised at the ready, he waited. Intuition said they were close. Hand-held lights flickered briefly down the hallway.

_Just a little closer._

"Colonel Skahticus," a voice chirped over his helmet's headset, "be advised, you've got enemy incoming."

The lights paused and then there was a flash. They were gone.

_Idiot._

"I _had_ enemy incoming. I thought I requested radio silence, Sergeant. Get me outta here."

Rematerializing, the Colonel removed his helmet. He was in the Combat Intelligence Center, or CIC, of the _Companion._ His squadron had set up shop there.

"What the hell was that, Treimer?" the Colonel yelled, holstering his personal blaster. "I almost had 'em. When I request radio silence, I mean silent!"

"Yes, sir, sorry, sir," Treimer quibbled, "It's just that they were right on your six and-"

_My six, huh? Guess they had me surrounded. No need to tell him that._

"Stow it, Sergeant," the Colonel snapped, tossing his helmet at an equipment rack. "That's _twice_ you've pissed me off today. No more calls from angry captains, huh? Make sure I've got any and all new intel." He then locked himself in the office he had commandeered.

The Colonel had been tracking, in stealth, one of the rogue groups of saboteurs through a currently uninhabitable section of the _Vanguard_. He had chosen to go alone, as, by his own admission, he worked better that way. The new issue gear, their standard uniform, provided protection in a variety of environments, including the cold vacuum of space.

_Just add helmet, and voila, environmental suit._

Despite modifications, the noise reduction technology only went so far. The clinking and clanking of boots magnetizing and un-magnetizing from the hull or floor plating could get noisy when several Marines moved together through a gravity-less setting. So, the Colonel went solo.

Minutes old intelligence led him to believe the terrorist group's leader, his prey, was with this particular posse. DaKen had made fools of his Marines many times over. Now, the Colonel had a personal and professional vendetta to settle. Things were going according to plan until one of his own men screwed him over. At least his new tracking methods had proven successful.

Through a series of trial and error, they had discovered the group was using a type of cloaking device that momentarily moved the individual or group out of phase with the universe before a transport was initiated. Since they were out of phase during the seconds before and after transport, they were virtually undetectable. The Colonel had accidentally stumbled across this information when they detected what they thought to be a radiation leak after one of their skirmishes. He had since been sniffing them out, using the radiation as a trail.

Recently, it had also been determined that the residue remained on the user for a short period of time. It was through this means of detection that several turn-coat crewmembers had been revealed. Though, unfortunately, after their incarceration, the traitors chose a rather shocking form of self-combustion over interrogation. Wide-scale implementation was out of the question as long as the Starfleet crew was oblivious to the looming threat.

His fear that the fugitives were moving freely about the fleet under the protection of their cloak was put to rest when a burned corpse turned up in the Brig. It was assumed he was attempting to free the prisoners; cause of death: radiation exposure. Autopsies consistently revealed trace amounts of foreign metals. It was assumed this was the means of self-sacrifice, but the Colonel suspected it might also have been a subcutaneous transponder – a sort of tag – to allow cloaked transport. As of yet, they had no other leads.

* * *

"Mind if I join you?" Alexander asked, sticking his head into Miria's quarters. "There's no ready-room or office aboard and I thought you might like some company."

"Not at all," she said as she nodded to the chair across from her. "Who's flying the ship?" "Baxter's got it. What she lacks in social skills, she makes up for in piloting ability."

"That's nice of you to say."

He rolled his eyes and removed his uniform jacket as he took a seat. Alexander then dove into his padds, attempting to sift through incomplete data. Silently, he was thankful he had had the foresight to design the runabout with comfortable living accommodations.

"And if there was a ready-room on," she said, giving him a teasing smile, "I'd be in it." Alexander laughed.

"What do you have there?" Miria asked, putting down her own work.

"The Admiral was generous enough to allow me to retain access to the data involving the accident. To be honest, I haven't been able to make heads or tails of it. A lot of it's incomplete, or damaged, or possibly tampered with. _Vanguard_ was able to get the best readings, but ironically, their data took the worst beating. How 'bout you?"

"Just brushing up on the Ly Jadai," she said, "a very interesting people. They're an enlightened and extremely technologically advanced race, but they've got some strange ideals. Besides baffling social structures, up until a few decades ago, they were extremely xenophobic, completely intolerant of outsiders, or anything foreign. Even now, off-worlders are not permitted within their Imperion's home star system."

"Captain Morgan said they were looking forward to a cultural exchange, what changed?"

"See that's what odd: I don't know. I can't figure that out because there's nothing here that supports the idea that anything did. There was no reformation or grand revelation or any mention of an incident instigating the acceptance of diversity." She was clearly perplexed.

"Well," he offered, "it's not as though they've shared their entire historical database."

"Still, it doesn't add up. Incomplete data or not, I know misinformation when I see it."

Alexander stood and went to the aft-facing viewport; pondering, he watched as the stars stretch by. "How are you going to proceed?" he finally asked.

"I'd like to send ahead a subspace transmission, alerting the colony to our approach," handing him a padd with a pre-composed message, "Giving them time to prepare may make things more amiable."

"No," Alexander disagreed, "it's too risky. If they do turn out to be hostile, I don't want them prepared. The situation is already precarious enough."

"As the diplomatic liaison, that is my official position," Miria insisted firmly, "Alex, I've had a lot more experience in this area. It's what I do."

"Let's not get bogged down, Mems," he said calmly, "it's a tactically unsound move, that's all I'm saying. This isn't entirely political."

"I know," she said, sighing, "Listen, I _know_ the Admiral put you in charge; I trust his judgment and reasons, and you. I understand your burden to keep all of us safe, me especially. But, I am the official representative of the Council and…I outrank you. I don't want to push the issue, Alex, but I promise you, I truly believe this is the best course of action. So trust me."

"You're the Ambassador," Alexander conceded, taking the padd. Grabbing his jacket, he headed for the door. Miria let out another sigh as he left without another word. He did not need to be a mind-reader or empathic to know she too was conflicted.

* * *

"Doctor Cavenaugh," Lieutenant Kaleb Vance called out in a sing-song voice. Susannah was in the back of the shuttle checking on some of her patients. Smiling warmly, she gave a gentle shoulder-squeeze to the elderly woman she was treating. The sleeping child in the matron's arms was very ill, but sleeping peacefully.

"Doctor," he called again. "Oh _Doc_tor."

"I'll be there in a minute, Lieutenant," Susannah finally answered.

Cumbersomely climbing to the front, she was careful not to step on or wake any of her patients. Crewman Dûr, the only other well person aboard, was snugly wedged in what Susannah would call a crawlspace assiduously working on the engines. So, she took his seat next to Vance. The green cloud filled their view forebodingly. It made her nervous.

"We're here," he said, the instruments and the ambience casting a strange aura on his bewhiskered mug, quite scraggly, a shave several days overdue. The shadows hide his laughing russet eyes. He was rather disheveled in mishap civilian clothes from his eventful ordeal, but seemed unfazed and instead was focused on the task at hand. "I still think this is a bad idea."

Susannah nodded in silent agreement and helped him scan the gases. They were hoping to find something in the nebula they could extract and convert into breathable atmosphere. It was risky venturing so closely to the dangerous nebular ring, but with little air and even less power, they had to risk it. Vance doubted he could move them into the clear again.

"I'm detecting trace amounts of dilithium and deuterium." Vance reported, his mood brightening, "It's not much, but it could give us the boost we need."

Studying the display intently, she did not recognize most of the chemical compositions or elemental configurations that comprised the green cloud. So far, nothing was nitrogen or oxygen based as they had hoped.

"I'm gonna aim us into this pocket here," he told her, "it looks richer. We may not find air, but hey, we might get lucky and scrounge up enough fuel to make our own."

"It's as good as anything else," Susannah agreed. Their heading changed almost negligibly, drifting at mere meters per minute on pure momentum deeper into the haze.

"Open up the Bussard collectors," Vance ordered, "Let's try to pick up as much as we can. And increase the filters, I don't wanna suck in anything volatile and blow us up."

Susannah offered a simple, "right," but flustered slightly at his command. Doctor or not, they were the same rank. She then checked herself, knowing she should defer to him in matters such as these. With the new fuel flowing in – however minute the amount – she helped change the power allocation. As the scrubbers began working more efficiently, she immediately, could breathe easier. The sickly, fog-like view suddenly shifted. The luminance was faint at first and then quickly grew to a harsh, raging ginger glare. Intermittent strobes crisscrossed the expanse.

"Lieutenant," she breathed, "What…what _is_ that?

"Whoa," Vance said, and then stared for a moment too, before checking his sensors. "Highly…_really_, highly charged plasma. We need to get away from that, _now_."

"Sounds good," Susannah murmured. "Are we done?"

"I think we've gotten enough," he replied emphatically. "I'm gonna help Dûr finish before I fire her up." Vance was up and out of his seat as quickly as his strong, stocky frame would allow, and awkwardly tiptoeing the winding path through the patients.

Susannah returned her eyes warily to the torrid view. The oranges were still wreathed with green and, as the shuttle continued to drift, more of it came into view. Uncomfortable that she could no longer see the danger, she earnestly reviewed the sensor readings to be sure they were not caught in any currents and unexpectedly drawn into harm's way.

A momentary blip caught her attention, but it was gone as soon as fast it had come.

_What was that_?

Susannah's hand was clamped over her mouth anxiously as she fruitlessly perused the scans. Whatever it was, she couldn't find it again.

"Let's go," Lieutenant Vance said as he rejoined her.

"I saw something," she said softly.

"What?" he asked absently as he powered up their systems.

"There's something out there," Susannah continued, distracted as she watched the clouds, "It was close."

"There's nothing on sensors. We gotta go."

"Wait," she said, a hand on his arm. She stood and craned herself forward, peering through the transparent frontward canopy. "There."

The outline was faint at first, but as they drifted closer, a grayish obtuse shape took form.

"It's an escapepod!" Vance declared. It was less than fifty meters from them.

"It's floating straight into that…disaster."

"I have it on sensors now," he said. "It's in bad shape –"

"There's someone on board! The life signs are very weak."

"– no shields, no engines," Vance continued, "nothing. The hull is intact, that's good. None of that gas has gotten inside either."

"The atmosphere's breathable, what's left, anyway." Susannah added. "Take us closer."

"Closer?" Vance scoffed, "We have to get out of here. We barely have the juice to do that as it is, Doc."

"We can't just abandon them," she replied pleadingly.

"We don't have transporters, shields, tractor beam," he reminded her, "What do you want me to do, swim over there? I'm all for saving lives as much as the next guy, but give me a how."

Sullenly, she slumped in her seat.

Vance gave an exasperated sound and then drove the shuttle closer anyway, putting them in the pod's path, the plasma vein dangerously near. The temperature rose quickly. Ever so slowly, the pod bumped the shuttle's nose and they rocked slightly in their seats. Lieutenant Vance fired their thrusters momentarily to halt their collective momentum.

A long narrow viewport – scarcely three meters from them – stretched across one side of the pod. Susannah let out an astounded gasp and covered her mouth with both hands. The body of the occupant was afloat, a gruesome shroud of crimson drifting around the unconscious frame.

"Koday…" Vance whispered in disbelief. Appalled and angry he rose to his feet.

Susannah stared at him with wide, concerned eyes, speechless.

"Where do we keep the EVA suits?"

* * *

Alexander ambled about his quarters – an all in one sleeping, dining, working area with an attached lavatory – hands on his hips, lips pursed and cocked to one side. Eyes darting about casually but with purpose, he never stopped evaluating his own work. Just down the hall from Miria's, it was one of only two private accommodations on board. Two Spartan spaces that would each sleep up to eight were situated in between the Officer's Quarters, the four chambers lining the aft most section of the lower level of the ship. Thus far, he was pleased.

Dancing from the space's aesthetics, to his lost friend, to the tense tête-à-tête with his friend the Ambassador, to the volatile situation they were walking out of and the potential one they were walking into, he was mulling thoughts over as if a piece of ice on his tongue. Alexander paused at the aft-facing viewport, his arms tightly crossed high on his chest, clicking his right molars and canines absently.

"Computer," he said, waiting for recognition, "begin log…

_Alexander Erikssen Personal Log, Stardate 53370_

_I've found myself with the first chance to think in…days, I guess it's been, and now the severity of everything is crashing down on me. Kaleb's missing…he's dead for all I know. And I don't even know how to process that. Do I mourn? Do I hope? Do I bottle and cope with military detachment? Ha. _

_And then there's everything else: the fleet, the disaster, my new post, this ship, this…somehow strange feeling mission. It doesn't sit right. I dunno…_

_I just wish Miria would listen to my advice; I never could tell her anything. Hard headed as they come. Ha ha. Soft hearted too. I'm more than glad to be along, we haven't served together in a long time. I mean I get to test-fly my own ship. The runabout I designed. It's great. In the middle of all this mess, I've gotten the opportunities of a lifetime and I can't even appreciate or enjoy them._

_Still...why did __Montgomery__ put me on this mission? Miria outranks me everyway; she always has and it's a little uncomfortable to have been put over her. It doesn't make sense for me to be leading her diplomatic errand, not that I'm doing much leading. She's certainly capable. One doesn't advance to the rank of Commander without the ability to handle something like this..._

_I'd never say it to her face, but I am worried. She'd never let her personal life compromise work, but this…this is different. DaKen…she was gonna marry DaKen. Not my first pick for her, but definitely her type. I never did like him, but I never thought…Now he's the scourge of our existence and our very survival hinges on his failure. This is messy._

_I feel good, though. Not about our circumstances, of course. But I feel strong. Stronger than I have in…so long. Since command training, I've bounced around so much, from post to post, I guess this isn't really different, but it feels right. My purpose and involvement. I'm making a difference, a contribution again. _

_It's good. I need to try to be at my best – even if I'm not really – and keep my head cool and keep my wits about me. For Miria's sake. For the Fleet._

"Computer, end log," he said, dropping onto his bunk.

"**Unable to comply. Process Failed. Record lost.**"

Burying his face in his hand and then pushing back his blond length, Alexander groaned.

"Of _course_ it was, _of_ course it was," he muttered and flopped back on the bed.

* * *

"Lieutenant Vance," Dr. Cavenaugh exclaimed, "You can't be serious?!"

Kaleb had donned the EVA suit and was double-checking the gloves' seals, the helmet pinned beneath his arm. A second suit was strapped to his back. Unfortunately, the models carried in this less than cutting-edge vessel were not equipped with thruster packs; so, he would not be jetting over in back with ease. He, and the futilely pleading Cavenaugh, were standing in the now empty aft compartment of their tiny, overcrowded shuttlecraft. All the passenger-patients had been crammed as far forward as possible.

"Will it hold?" Kaleb asked, ignoring her protests.

"Well yes," she stammered, "it will provide adequate protection, but that's not –"

"Hey, Dûr," Kaleb called to the crewman at the helm, "Make sure you vent the atmosphere, _then_ open the hatch. Not the other way around."

"You got it," came the reply. "We're in position; waiting for you."

"Thanks."

"I don't think this is a good idea," Cavenaugh pressed. "You shouldn't do this."

Kaleb placed a bulky, gloved hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll be fine. And if I get into any trouble, I know I'll have you waiting her to fix me right up again."

Averting her eyes, she blushed almost unnoticeably.

"I don't even know your name," he spouted, the thought struck him randomly.

"Susannah," she said after a long pause, obviously a little uncomfortable.

"Doctor Susannah Cavenaugh, it's been a pleasure. Now, I'm gonna go try to be a hero."

"That makes me feel much better," she said, exasperated, "You make it sound as though you won't be coming back."

"I'm coming back!" Kaleb replied rolling his eyes, "But not without Koday."

"That's what worries me," Cavenaugh said, her posture was awkward; she darted forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then, she backed quickly into the forward section and activated the forcefield, separating the fore and aft compartments, its blue luminescence crackling between them. Kaleb stood in slight astonishment with a lopsided smile.

He presently regained his focus as Cavenaugh began listing safety precautions. Appreciative of the concern, Kaleb ignored her and slid on his helmet. The suctioning sound made his skin crawl.

"Dûr. Hit it." Kaleb's voice sounded tinny as it echoed in the headgear and was relayed over the comm. The unmistakable sound of the air being sucked from the space followed. Two forceful mechanical _clunks_ signaled the rear hatch being lowered. The ghastly green poured in around him, popping as it was held at bay by the energy field. The life-pod lay just beyond the ramp. "Well, Su," he said, taking several steps back, "wish me luck."

She chuckled and bit her lip.

"What?"

"It's nothing. It's just…you called me Su; that's what my brother calls me."

_Oo_, he winced internally. Kaleb turned and padded to the opening, his steps mechanical as his boots were magnetized. He rechecked the extra suit to be sure it was secure.

"Kaleb," she called after him, using his first name.

_A first..._

"Yeah?"

"Good luck."

"Thanks," he said with a laugh. Kaleb now stood at the opening, the vastness of the green cloud and flotilla of rock coming into full view. Taking a deep breath, he bent at the knees. At the same moment, he pressed the mag-release on his wrist and pushed off.

Sailing annoyingly slow through the soup, Kaleb reached out with all his might and hoped the thick haze's resistance would not strand him adrift between the two miniscule vessels. Forty-five seconds dragged on nervously long until his momentum easily carried him to the pod and he unexpectedly slammed into its side.

"Oo-f," Kaleb gasped; the wind was knocked from him. "Okay, I made it."

"Und…stoo…" came the static-y reply. "…urry bac...current is increa…vanaugh out."

"Acknowledge," he said; the poor reception worried him. First, reaching back to feel if the other suit was still attached, he scrambled over the edge until he came to the docking port. Here was where Kaleb's plan became – as he said – sticky. If he were to open the hatch to climb in, what little atmosphere was left would come rushing out, blowing him clear of the pod and to certain death, and instantly killing the near-dead cadet. That had stumped him for a while.

Simply considering the next logical step – common advice from an old friend – both Kaleb and Cavenaugh had pointed out a forcefield would be necessary. Initially ruling out the idea due to the current scarcity of energy, it seemed the best and only option. With the help of Crewman Dûr, a power cell from the replicator had been sufficiently modified.

The tide of cloud proved more turbulent than expected, and Kaleb had to fight to not be swept away. Cumbersomely, he retrieved the cell with his left hand while his right arm was looped through a handhold adjacent the hatch. The churning gases shifted abruptly and he, along with the pod and shuttle were rocked violently.

The power cell slipped from his grip and floated away.

Jerking his legs, he let his arm slide free until only his hand gripped the bar and he reached for the tiny escaping mechanism. Kaleb was dangerously close to drifting off into the cold vacuum of space, beyond the reach of any likely rescue; he shivered. His fingers brushed it, but could not find a hold. Straining with all his might, the cell drifting away, the pod unexpectedly rolled in his favor and Kaleb grabbed it.

_That was close,_ he thought, reeling himself in.

Kaleb finally managed to interface the cell and a tricorder once the hatch's control panel had been pried free. It was clumsy accessing the pod's computer system in that manner, but he found his way in and silently wished Alexander was there. _This is his thing._ Once confident he had laid the proper subroutines, Kaleb proceeded. The cell only had a charge that would sustain a forcefield for a few minutes at the most. He would have to be very careful and very quick.

The power cell pulsed a bright blue as he brought the containment field online around the opening of the hatch. Or at least he hoped he had; he would know once it was open. The hatch released prematurely and swung open. An unexpected rush of atmosphere struck Kaleb, jerking him free of the pod. Again, he hung on by mere finger tips.

The burst of air was relatively short and Kaleb quickly and strenuously pulled himself in, ignoring the near catastrophe. Unhooking the extra suit, he shoved it in and dove, head first, after it. The green cloud invaded the pod, stopped only by the containment field. There was zero visibility. Swinging about, Kaleb reached for the hatch and yanked it close.

Now trapped blind in a coffin of noxious gases, Kaleb fumbled for the controls to vent the poison before the power cell failed and it spread into the rest of the pod. Frustrated, he could not find them for some minutes. The environmental systems began slowly sucking the green out. Too early, Kaleb heard the crackle of the field as it dropped; the charge was spent, the gases spreading quickly as it mingled with the air.

Pulling the extra suit along behind, Kaleb nearly swam his way to the limp body of the cadet. He had a pulse, his breathing was shallow, and he looked like hell. Wasting no more time, Kaleb somehow stuffed the boy into the EVA suit and got the life-support running smoothly.

"I've got him," Kaleb reported, feeling less tense. "I'm coming home."

There was only static as reply.

"Okay…" Kaleb said aloud to no one, and then, "Hold on, Koday."

Without word from the shuttle, it was not safe to proceed; he needed word from them to know the shuttle was in position; otherwise, Kaleb would risk blowing them free in the wrong direction. He waited several more minutes, unable to get through.

"Screw it. I'll do it the hard way."

Kaleb had intended to use the remaining atmospheric pressure to launch them back into the shuttle. With that no longer an option, he vented it and hauled Koday to the hatch. Opening it, he stuck his helmeted head out and looked about. The shuttle was no where in sight.

_Great._

Assuming, they were waiting on the other side, just out of view. Kaleb tugged the cadet through the opening and tethered his suit to him. Thankful to be in zero-g, he crawled rather effortlessly, minus the pull of the currents, across the circumference of the pod.

The shuttle was gone.

* * *

"It's a set of coordinates, two actually. One for geosynchronous orbit and one for transport."

Alexander was on the Bridge of his little starship with Ensign Baxter. A highly encrypted data burst – ostensibly from the LyJadicean Imperion – had arrived forty minutes earlier. It took some imaginative work to gain access to the message.

"Hmm, mysterious," Alexander remarked, "what's our ETA?"

"We'll be in the system in about twenty," she replied, a little more jovial than was usual. "Good. Drop out of warp a little early, just inside the star-system, and proceed to the first set of coordinates at sublight," he ordered, his brown eyes glossy in thought, "Take us to Yellow-Alert and keep an eye out for anything unusual."

"Like…" she wondered aloud, her attitude back to normal.

"Use your imagination," he told her, rising, "Just keep your guard up. I'll let the Ambassador know we've arrived.


	19. III: Eye of the Storm 6

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

Story Revamp: 07/01/2009

**_EXCURSION GAMMA ~ _**_volume one_

III: Eye of the Storm

SIX

Unusually dense for a gaseous expanse, the green cloud proved to be difficult to navigate. Colonel Skahticus had taken a squadron of fighters for another reconnaissance run through the field. Fortunately for him, they were piloting the updated _Valkerie-_type Federation attack-fighters. The Colonel had flown their progenitors during the war; the engines of these Mark II's were very smooth.

Several intercepted transmissions had led the Colonel to believe the rogues were communicating with someone nearby, but not actually within the fleet. It is possible a refuge may have been discovered. It was more likely they stole a shuttle, or a runabout, or had unthinkably smuggled their own vessel aboard and were now hiding within the shadows.

_For so many of them to elude detection, nothing would surprise me._

This had all become very cloak-and-dagger; luckily, that was his specialty, blowing covert ops right out of the sky. The Colonel would relish the opportunity to deal with their leader personally.

"Bossman, come in. This is homestead, do you copy?"

"I read you, homestead. What's up, Maarks?"

"Colonel, we've picked up more chatter on the isolated frequency," Maarks reported. "What have you got for me?"

"Decryptions are still running, but there's a lot of back and forth, a lot more than before," he said, "Colonel, they sound urgent. Like they're gearing up for something."

_Like the Admiral always says, go with the gut. I feel it._

"Alright, I'm coming home," the Colonel said resolutely, "Maarks, I want to know as soon you know, keep me posted all the way in."

"Yes, sir. And, Colonel, the number of radiation detections has dropped significantly in the last hour. They may be moving out."

"Copy that, Bossman out." he said, and then switching channels to his team, "Alrighty, boys and girls. I'm heading back in. TBird, you're with me. Flare, take point; stay at high-alert. I think we're about to hit mission-critical. Looks like we may have ourselves a situation at the homestead."

* * *

The colony was beautiful. Ornate grandiose stone structures echoing a rich history. It was a lush place, but looked to Miria as though they might be heading for their autumnal cycle. The moon itself was M-class, like most humanoid-inhabited worlds, but orbited a volatile gas-giant. Alexander had stated the planet may be having some deleterious effects on the moon; perhaps that explained the odd sensation she was feeling. At first glance, the seasons appeared to be changing, but it could be the initial signs of damage.

Despite her objections, Alexander had insisted on accompanying her security detail. His concern was beginning to rub off and she would have preferred he be waiting on the _Solara_ to pull them out at the first sign of trouble. Only Baxter and a few others remained behind. On the other hand, his presence was reassuring. Even with eight security officers and a lieutenant commander, Miria had not felt entirely safe since arriving.

The beam-in site was an amphitheatre-like setting; an open area engulfed in stone architecture and slightly overgrown with foliage. It was very odd indeed. A single individual, shrouded not only with a hooded swathe but an impenetrable mental barrier, was their welcoming party. Silently, they were led down a cobblestone path toward a larger superstructure.

Except for their host, the place was deserted. They had seen or heard no one else. Miria could not feel the presence of anyone either. Although, given that her guide was impervious to her empathy, her wealth of experience told her that meant very little.

Presently, her delegation was indoors. Several corridors and staircases brought them to a cavernous hall. A single hand gesture told them to wait and the host departed. Miria sensed the nervousness of her team and had to calm her own trepidation to remain solid. Alexander might as well have been screaming his concerns at her, his emotions and thoughts were so prevalent.  
_I don't like this, Mira,_ she felt him project to her. _This doesn't feel right._

Miria needed focus, had to stay strong. She ignored him for now, though his concerns were duly noted. Adamant to not let fear and emotion end diplomacy before it could begin, she waited. Suddenly, the thoughts of her detail shifted dramatically.

"Do you smell that," one of them whispered.

"Gas."

It was too late. Miria's vision spun as she was one of the first to succumb.

* * *

"Just hang in there, Cadet," Kaleb said, his voice shaky. "That's an order."

Hunkered low against the escapepod, adrift in the green expanse, the pocket of plasma loomed perilously near. There had been no response to his hails nor any sign of the shuttle. Kaleb was fresh out of ideas. Koday had several hours of air at the most, he a little less.

"How do I get myself into these messes?"

He jerked when there was static in response.

"Hello?!" Kaleb yelled over his comm. "Anyone there? Anyone here me?"

"…enant Vanc…come in…you cop.."

"I read you! I'm here!"

"Lieutenant!" the signal broke through with clarity. Kaleb surged with euphoria as the shuttlecraft emerge from the smoky haze.

"Cavenaugh!" Kaleb yelled. "Where the _hell_ have you two been?"

"Sorry, I'm sorry." her voice was flustered. "The current separated us. Are you alright?"

"We're fine. Get us out here." Kaleb ordered.

With only maneuvering thrusters apparent, the vessel repositioned vexingly slow as it circled and edged backward toward them. The ramp was already lowered, and Kaleb could just make out Cavenaugh's form beyond the forcefield. Waiting only long enough until he was sure the shuttle was in reasonable range, he pushed off with all his strength and tumbled into the aft compartment. Colliding heavily into the forcefield with cadet in tow, it sparked against his suit.

The rear hatch closed, gravity returning, and Kaleb clattered to the deck.

Before Kaleb regained his bearings or had his helmet off, Doctor Cavenaugh had already begun examining Koday as she tugged him out of his EVA suit. Kaleb scooted over to them as some of the ambulatory passengers began spreading out into the aft section once more.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Kaleb pressed, helping her pull away the remaining pieces. He was shocked by what he saw: Koday looked dead. Running a comforting hand over his head, even through his buzzed-short hair, he was frighteningly cold.

"I don't know yet," she responded distractedly, gingerly inspecting a jagged puss-filled gash jutting across his shin "he's suffering from severe oxygen deprivation and septicemia."

"Blood poisoning?"

"Very good. Now, let me worry about him," Cavanaugh replied shortly, glancing at him, "Unless, you need medical attention – which will have to wait, regardless – you worry about getting the rest of those patients moved back here and comfortable."

"Aye, aye," Kaleb consented sardonically. Leaving Koday in her capable hands, he hurried to the helm to check on their status. Crewman Dûr seemed frantic at the helm; the orange of the plasma loomed far too close. "We gettin' outta here?"

"Trying to, sir," he said, his voice rough. "Truth be told, I'm not much of a pilot. I'd…If you wouldn't mind…"

"Why don't I take over?" Kaleb suggested, saving face for the crewman, "Doc could use some help getting everyone settled and I could use a breather."

Dûr gratefully complied and Kaleb took his seat. What he found at the console was not what he expected. Immediately making major adjustments to power distribution, the deflector array, and other configurations to their weakened propulsion system, the failing shuttle began to cooperate and move with a little more ease. Pushing it as hard as he dare, the little craft strained to cut through the soup. Angling away, they moved at a maddeningly slow speed. The replenished fuel reserves were almost depleted; even if they punched through in the next minute or so, the air would last only another hour at most.

_I'm not about to die now after _all_ of that, _Kaleb declared.

Opening up the Bussard collectors, he began sucking up as much of the gases as he could and filtering anything remotely usable out of it. An overhead conduit sparked in reply.

"Geez."

Waiting only another crucial moment for charging, Kaleb brought the impulse engines online and prepared to fire them up. He then was struck with brilliance. Cutting power to engines – the ship abruptly reversed – he dumped as much power as he could into structural integrity.

"I'm about to flood the impulse manifold with highly charged plasma. So…This might get bumpy," Kaleb called back to his passengers. There were several sharp objections that he paid no mind or notice to.

The shuttle jerked and jolted as smaller discharges struck them; the heat was palpable.

_Just a little closer_.

His aft section was almost sitting in the deadly pocket. Turbulence racked and rocked as conduits and relays sparked in protests, surging with volatile raw energy. Once satisfied with his harvest and fearful of further damaged, Kaleb reversed the polarity, flushing out the remaining plasma in explosive burst.

The shuttle rocked as it lurched forward to safety. Kaleb brought shields, inertial dampers, and – most importantly – the impulse engines to full strength, rocketing towards the serene clearing.

"Yee-haw!"

* * *

It was slow going through the cloud, but the Colonel and Sergeant Treimer were nearing the perimeter. The strong electromagnetic field within the gases was beginning to wreak havoc with their comm systems. Maarks had been consistently checking in every five minutes or so, but they had been unreachable for over fifteen. Fighter to fighter communication was getting rough. Bursting into the open, they gained sudden momentum. The Colonel was ready to afterburner it all the way in.

"Bossman," Treimer radioed with much static, "I'm picking up some escapepods and shuttlecraft on the edge of the clearing."

_I could pretend my comm is fried and just gun it._

"Copy that, TBird," the Colonel said, milking his exasperation, "Ya wanna check it out?"

"It's your call; could be worth a quick sweep," Sergeant Treimer replied, "the rescue op might've missed something. I almost didn't see em."

"It's always my call, TBird." the Colonel reminded him, "Not much we can do for 'em, but we'll do a fly-by and then pass on the word."

"What do you say we stretch our wings, Bossman?"

"Lead the way."

Banking hard to port, they opened up their throttles; the fighters tore across the clearing.

* * *

Alexander jerked awake, gasping for air, and drenched in sweat. The grogginess was extremely tough to shake, though his heart was racing. Several minutes passed before he was lucid enough to piece together his memory. Once the fog had lifted, Alexander immediately leaped to his feet and was at the door. A migraine had severely impaired his equilibrium; he nearly blacked out.

Balancing against the frame, he paused for his vision to clear before checking the door.  
_Locked,_ _of course._

It was a single, thick, metal panel: no locking mechanism or handle of any kind. Refraining from banging to alert help – he was not yet coherent enough to deal with guards – Alexander returned his attention to the room. Wiping his soaked hair from his forehead, he saw that it was lavish. There was, of course, nothing that would assist in his escape, nor was there anything that could double as a weapon. His commbadge was also missing.

There was something else, he was sure of it. Something he was missing.

Sitting on the bed's edge, Alexander racked his brain. The focus he needed was simply unavailable. Nervously, his feet tapped on the stone floor.

_Of course._

Wrenching his boots off, Alexander's emergency plan came rushing back to him. Reaching inside the left, he felt for a depression in the sole of the heel. He pressed down and simultaneously jerked the heel clockwise, and then the opposite direction. It sprung open, revealing a compartment. Alexander carefully retrieved the small metallic object, just shy of three centimeters, and repeated the act with his right boot.

His vision was still blurred, but meticulously, he was able to reassemble the device.

* * *

Susannah wiped her hands on her soiled uniform and sat back on her haunches. For the moment, she was resigned to the young cadet's fate. Without the proper equipment and medication, his condition would only worsen. Dabbing a damp cloth against his soot-covered, ashen face, she spied something. Applying more pressure, the filth was wiped away revealing a series of small spots, slightly darker than his skin tone, that dotted his dotted the sides of his neck and brow.

_He's a Trill,_ Susannah remarked. Vance had not mentioned that, nor had she noticed a second life sign. A new scan did not reveal one, and she feared it had perished until she realized he was not yet old enough to receive his symbiont. It saddened her that he may never live to.

"Damn it! It's no use," she heard Vance call out in frustration.

Giving Koday a final once-over, Susannah then joined Vance and Dûr.

"Lieutenant…is there, is there something wrong?"

"Oh not a thing!" he spat, "A pair of Federation fighters just streaked past. They're not answering our hails and it's pretty dang obvious they can't see us yet. Just a few more kilometers of clouds to go. I'm pushing her as hard as I can…"

"They're moving away, sir," Dûr reported gloomily. "They'll be out of comm range by the time we break through even if the engines don't burn out first."

Lieutenant Vance cursed again. A few minutes passed in silence before the dark noxious green lightened and began to melt aside, the clearing coming into full view. The drifted to a slow stop, Vance's fingers dancing across the console like a piano. "Please see us," Susannah pleaded, "They may not have…Lieutenant, what is that?"

"What?" he asked. When she did not reply, he then looked up.

The engines of the fighters were mere specs now. Across the clearing, beyond where the remnants of their fleet lie, a shadow darkened an expansive portion of the gas cloud. Growing exponentially larger, it became clear the shadow was a silhouette, a profile, impossibly large.

"I have no idea," Vance breathed. Susannah had a very bad feeling about whatever it was.

* * *

"Sir, why are we stopping?" A'lae queried with stupefied attitude lacing her voice.

She and several others were aboard the _Achilles' _Captain's Yacht, a small embarked vessel usually intended for courier missions. Their ship's other shuttles were otherwise preoccupied with repair work and parts transfer, and transporters were offline again for realignment. Admiral Montgomery had apparently requested Captain D'Landrii at an urgent meeting of the most confidential nature.

D'Landrii, unusually at the helm, had taken them on a strange course to _Companion, _supposedly to avoid unwanted attention. They were now nowhere near the rest of fleet concealed in the depths of tumultuous nebular phenomenon.

"You ask too many questions, Lieutenant," his tone casual, but pointed, "it's a shortcut."

* * *

"She's awake, Autarch."

[_Bring her_]

Disoriented, Miria struggled to regain her bearings. She was bound, gagged, and blindfolded. Her captors were also immune to her empathy. She felt extremely claustrophobic.

_Just breathe_, Miria told herself.

[_Leave us_]

There was shuffling and then her bindings fell away. Instinct drove her to check for injury and scamper away to safety. Miria resisted the urge and, with dignity, stood. She was in an even larger hall, a throne room if she had to guess. The individual she assumed was the Autarch stood on a platform several meters high. The chamber was shadowed, save a garish spotlight on the dais.

He was humanoid, but his appearance was unlike the Ly Jadai from her research. Towering in height, but gangly, his figure was slight. His leathery skin – a pale, sickly, greenish grey – was gaunt and had no hair to speak of. Dark eyes were sullen and deep set. His features were sharp, as though his bones might protrude. The Autarch's garb, though regal and symbolic of his position, was several sizes too large, emphasizing his emaciated visage.

"I am Ambassador Miria Memlilia of the Federation starsh-"

[_We know who you are_]

"I see," Miria replied slowly, treading cautiously, "And you are the Autarch of the LyJadic-"

[_It was necessary to probe your minds while you were unconscious. All subterfuge is eliminated in this fashion.]_

"Very well," she acquiesced, a little shaken by the thought. It was impossible to know what information had been taken. The fleet may have been compromised. "Since you've already obtained the information you desire, would you mind answering a few questions of mine?"

There was eerie silence, and then an ever-so-slight nod from the Autarch.

"If I may," she began, "who are you?"

Miria shuttered under the intensity of the mental barrage. His answer had been granted telepathically; it was a painful experience. She was able to glean he was the Autarch – or governor – of this colony, which was the ruling seat of this sector of space within the Imperion. Everything else was muddled and would take time to sift through.

"My people, your honor?" she managed, her strength waning.

[_Safe. For now…_] Images of each followed.

"Thank you," Miria said, ignoring his addendum to their safety, "Autarch, you know that we've come on a diplomatic mission seeking aide and favorable relations between our two people. Have you come to a decision?"

[_Your people's misfortune is of no interest to us_. _You have nothing we value to offer._]  
"I see…"

The Autarch's head snapped upwards, as if he were listening.

[_You have committed a serious offense, trespassing in our territory. It has been decided. Your insolence will be made an example of, both to your people and all others who would dishonor us.]_

"What?! I don't understand."

[_Your sentry will be executed, your ship impounded, and _you_ shall serve the Insurgence._]

_Insurgence?_

"No, please," Miria pleaded, "let the others leave. Autarch, we've done nothing wrong, we're here by your permission."

The Autarch said nothing more.

The spotlight extinguished and she was forcibly escorted out into an adjacent courtyard. The change in light was blinding. As her eyes adjusted, Miria saw eight figures, clad in yellow and black, bound and blindfolded. Her security detail was lined up on a plank in the center of the courtyard. An obelisk towering above them glimmered in the sun. High up, behind her people, was a panel of cloaked individuals.

[_For your contempt to our sovereignty, and the dissension you wish to seed, you shall witness their demise._]

"No!" Miria cried out. "Please."

Her escorts restrained her. The young Betazoid female continued to struggle in vain as she watched helplessly. The triangular crown of the obelisk luminesced; an overwhelming flash followed. Miria watched in horror as the innocent officers were disintegrated: dissolving in a white-hot flash like a strip of mercury. Their pain speared her heart. Tears streaming, she uttered "no, no, no," over and over again.

Once more tugged along, she no longer resisted. Vision blurred by tears, Miria cared not where she went. Her fate was out of her control; any hope of escape, now lost.

A sudden impact from behind shocked and frightened Miria; crashing on her front, she realized she had been tackled. There was the familiar glow and tingle of transport. Coalescing, Miria found herself on the Bridge of the _Solara_ with Alexander sprawled on the floor beside her.

Sitting up, Miria gasped and gaped like a fish out of water; blinking uncontrollably in astonishment, she surveyed the Bridge around her unable to believe her eyes.

"Alex," she cried, now weeping tears of joy. "What…How?"

Smiling proudly, he held out his hand. A small round device was nestled in his palm. "It's a signal booster and an emergency-transport activator," Alexander informed her as he helped her to her feet. "I programmed it before we left. It only had enough power for a one-way return trip, so I had to find you first. And believe me, that was no easy task."

"How did you," Miria began, "I mean, I though that you were-"

"I'll explain later," he said, holding up a hand. "We're not outta the woods yet."

She nodded gratefully in agreement.

Turning to the forward section, they found Ensign Baxter slumped over the console. She was badly injured. _Solara _had also taken a heavy beating.

"I'm not detecting anyone else on board," Alexander said, gently moving Baxter aside.

"Help me get her to Sickbay," Miria told him. She carefully began lifting the ensign.

"We'd better hurry," he replied, "we've got incoming."

* * *

With the first salvo, the battle was over before it could begin. Without the slightest warning, three colossally enormous cruisers had burst through the swirling green gasses and opened fire on the fleet. The starships were defenseless.

Four squadrons of fighters, manned by his own marines, were blown from the sky having barely left their bays. Going against everything inside him, the Colonel had been forced to retreat and take refuge within the noxious cloud. He and his wingman took heavy damage, but the Colonel knew, with out doubt, they had faired far better than any of their comrades could have even hoped to.


	20. IV: Reigns 1

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

**Story Revamp: 07/01/2009 **

**Chapter Update: 07/21/2009  
**

Warning! Proceed no further. This story has undergone a major overhaul. Plot, characters, arrangement, chapters, you name it, have all been changed, added, deleted, altered etc. Unless you're a new reader, reading after July 1st, 2009, I suggest you go back and start with the newly added Prelude and continue on. You may recognize much of the story. A few installments have even only had minor changes, but unless you want to be lost, go back and start over. Besides, its' been like six months since I last posted...reread it. :D

* * *

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

IV: Reigns

ONE

"Fly or shoot?" Alexander asked, urgency filling his tone.

"What?"

"Fly or shoot?" he repeated forcefully, "Which one are you more comfortable with?"

"What? Uh…I…"

"I can't do this by myself, Miria. Pick one: fly the ship or shoot at the bad guys."

"Oh!" she said, finally understanding, "Um…fly. No, shoot. Wait, fly!

"Never mind, I'll fly, you shoot. You know what to do, right Commander? You got this?"

"Yes," Miria responded, offended. He did not have time for tact and sensibilities.

"Just lay down cover fire while I try to get us out of here."

Miria joined Alexander at the forward console. He knew his ship well and the _Solara _was quickly moving away from their foe, but the Ly Jadicean ships were much faster. As the attack fighters closed in, weapons fire began to weaken the _Solara_'s shield. Under a brutal barrage, she bucked involuntarily as three pot-shots rattled the shield, buoying her off-course, and a sweep of energy erupted in a flicker of blue.

One burst, followed by another, sailed harmlessly past the advancing aggressors, effortlessly evading the defensive fire. Another volley came with a surprise as the amber-pulsing spheres met their mark with a deceitfully pleasing detonation.

"Ha-ha! I got one," Miria exulted, raising her hands triumphantly.

"Great, just stay focused. Soon as we're clear, I'll jump to warp."

"Okay…"

"I've got three Imperion ships closing in us, Miria," he reported, scrupulous in his attention, "Heavy cruisers: _wow_, they're big…They're blocking our escape route."

Alexander had never seen starships as large; he doubted Miria had either. He mentally groped for an adequate adjective to describe their immensity. Each was scores of kilometers in length and at least one in height and breadth. The elongated wedged silhouettes eclipsed the moon and a significant portion of the gas-giant it orbited; the black canvas of white pinpricks was all but blotted out.

The furthest monstrosity was nothing more than obscured black shadow as the system's star blinked into view beyond the circumference of the swirling planet, its surface agitated by roiling storms and blood-red like the dying star it orbited. The fierce sinister flares of the star spewed a harsh torrid glare past the planet, and, unforgivingly, across the spectacle.

The other two, however, were quite visible. Alternating matte charcoals and inky obsidian of crenelated plating were striated with sterling and the occasional heliotrope. A series of clusters of globules marked the girth and emanated an eeriness as violet churned to magenta churned to wine. Daunting and powerful in every way, they held an organic feel in the individualistic details and were not identical, though generally the same.

Alexander's breath caught at the sight.

These cruisers were not yet in weapons range of the _Solara -_ Alexander presumed as well as hoped. Like ever patient yet ravenous shark waiting for scent of first blood, they loomed in any potential escape vector, save back down to the surface of the moon, which was not an option at all. To follow any obvious course would undoubtedly bring them into the cruisers' reticules.

"What do you want me to do?! Alex, we're no match for them," Miria moaned in despair.

"Check the weapons manifest," Alexander replied as calmly as possible. He had an idea, or hoped he did. "We should be carrying at least one micro-Tricobalt device, fire it between the largest three on my mark. We're smaller and more maneuverable. I can get us close enough; the rest is up to you."

_Just not too close…_

"Got it, loading it into the launcher," she narrated, then paused. Slowly, she stated in a overly casual tone, "Uh, Alex, it's asking for me to set the yield. What would you suggest?"

"Set it to max," he decided, "should only be about ten megatons."

"Of course. My thoughts exactly," she answered very quickly, obviously feigning her knowledge of the subject matter. "Ready."

"Ok, not yet…hold," Alexander said. He drove their miniscule runabout back through the blanket of darting fighters toward the towering behemoths. Stray shots rocked them. They were almost close enough, "hold…Fire!"

As the twinkling azure explosive arced from their launcher, Alexander swerved the _Solara _sharply, narrowly avoiding impact with the closet of raiders. The round would fall nowhere near hitting its target when it did go off, but that had not been Alexander's intention. Assuming weapons control, he then launched a bombardment of micro-torpedoes and two Quantum torpedoes into the blast radius.

"Nice shot," he told Miria, "now hang on."

Within seconds of both he and Miria firing off their rounds, and with pinpoint accuracy, Alexander discharged two quick crimson bursts from their aft phaser array. Aimed at the Quantums, the antimatter rounds ignited, and, in a chain-reaction, the other warheads did as well. With a _pop_-_pop_-_pop_, like antimatter fireworks at the Academy graduation, the self-reinforcing shockwave met the Tricobalt device with destructive force.

White Flash

_Boom_

The detonation was larger than Alexander expected and Miria screeched, passing often into the ultrasonic, through its entirety. The shockwave and fallout blinded _Solara's_ rear sensor array, and, with luck, the enemy scans. Diverting power to aft-shields, they blindly road the brunt of the force clear of the Imperion vessels. The scattered fighters appeared to be disabled, at least momentarily, and the ensuing barrage did considerable damage. A second wave of fighters emerged from the three Imperion cruisers.

The cruisers lay well out of the blast radius and were undamaged. Alexander would have been surprised if they had been, as it was not his goal. To say it was a "match of no contest" was a ludicrous understatement. The light-show was a diversion. _Solara_ was small enough that the blast easily hid them from the enemy sensors, even if momentarily. It was all the time Alexander needed to activate the cloak and make them virtually invisible.

"What are we doing carrying that level of firepower?!" Miria demanded in an overwhelmed outrage. She was shaking. Understandably, though, as _Solara_ had taken a beating.

"It's all about how you use what you got," he said smugly, knowing she would recognize her own paraphrased credo. Her forehead crinkled in disapproval of his humor.

_Assuming they can't see right through us…_

"Alex, let's go," Miria urged anxiously, "Warp-speed, come on!"

"Something's wrong," he told her, hurriedly absorbing his readouts. "The…induction driver coil assembly is offline. What in the-"

"Is that…bad?"

"Well, we can't jump to warp."

"What?! Can you fix it?"

"I don't think it's broken. It looks like it's been manually disengaged. I'll be right back,"

"What?! No, no, no." Miria protested fervently, "Alex, I'm…not task-trained on a runabout. And I certainly cannot be the _Solara's_ tactical officer and helmsman at the same time."

"Alright, then you go."

"I can't fix the warp drive!" she exclaimed, baffled by his proposal, "Are you insane?!"

"It's not broken," Alexander insisted emphatically, "We'll keep an open com channel; I'll talk you through it."

She shook her head, angst-fully refusing.

"Miria, I can't do both. I can't be at two places at once. Our shields are at 35% and their ships are almost in weapons range again. You can do this. You have to do this."

"Alright, I'm going," she said, giving in. "You'll talk me through it?"

"Every step. Now go!"

Miria did not move right away. However, a well timed thruster burst from Alexander in conjunction with momentary failure to the inertial dampers had her out of her seat and sliding across the floor on her hindquarters. Now on her feet, Miria was quickly on her way.

"We're cloaked," Alexander called over his shoulder, "It'll buy us a few more minutes, but their technology is very advanced. I doubt it'll hide us for long.

"We have a cloak?" Miria demanded, pausing in the exit.

"Yeah," he answered emphatically, annoyance coloring the reply.

"That's illegal," she informed him curtly, disdain coloring her response.

"We're in the Gamma Quadrant. Go!"

"Khitomer Accords, right," she mumbled, remembering the concession, "Going."

* * *

A blaze of incoming fire, white hot. Too much to see through.

Take out enemy turrets, give us a chance. Scanners jammed. Can't get past.

"…ull up…comin…too hot…mayda…"

Explosion. Flash. Static.

_Companion_. Not returning fire. Dead in the water?

_Where the hell are those fighters_?

More gliders. Overwhelmed. Swarming the others.

"On your six!"

The blue bursts stopped. Quantum torpedoes? Cover fire gone.

Moving towards the _Achilles_. No defenses. Fighters gone. _Barcelona_ out of range.

So many, too many. Can't keep up.

"…Bossman…going…"

Two more. But not even a dent. Flash. More explosions.

_ Out of missiles._

"…breakin' up…can't…Bossman."

Raiders broke through. Cruisers moving in.

Explosions different this time. Fleet's shields…

"TBird! Back off! Back off!"

White

Black

* * *

The Ambassador was quite proud that she only found herself turned around once on her short jaunt to the engine room. The _Solara _was holding up reasonably well, she noticed.

"Mems, what's the hold up?" Alexander called over the open com-link.

_Someone's getting pushy._

"I'm outside the engine room door, but it won't open," Miria reported, "I think it's jammed."

"Then un-jam it, use the manual release. Unless you prefer to be incinerated."

"Right."

A compartment adjacent the entry held two grips used to force the panels apart.

"I'm in," Miria called, sliding between the door panels. She was met with a blast of hot, smoky air. She presumed the centralized, horizontal column, pulsing a radiant purple, was the _Solara_'_s_ Warp Core. Miria had not spent much time in Engineering over her career, but she was pretty certain she could identify that. "It looks pretty bad in here. Are you sure it's not broken?"

"No, but how would I know from here?" Alexander returned, "All the consoles should be indicating a problem; go to the large display on the port side of the entry way."

"No good, the display's shattered."

"There's a command station in the starboard section," he informed her, exasperated. It took Miria a moment, but she found the station; instructions were waiting.

"Okay, got em." Returning to the central walkway, Miria approached the core, but was startled with a low-level shock as she met resistance. "Alex, there's a force-field around the core and forward section."

"Alright, I got it."

"Wait," she called out apprehensively, "what if there's poisonous gas behind it?"

"There's not."

"You don't know why that field is up-"

"Well, then we're dead either way, _Commander_ Memlillia," Alexander cut her off matter-o-factly, "I'm lowering the field. You still alive?"

"Yes," she retorted. She was astounded by his brash.

"You don't sound very happy about that. Hurry up!"

Traversing the engine room, Miria had to dig her way through downed railings and panels to find the correct station. The display was damaged and she had to reconnect the power.

"I'm at the console and I've entered the command codes-"

"Okay, first you need to–"

"I've got it," she told him. Miria had the instructions and did not want the added confusion.

"Wait, you don't-"

"Computer, reengage plasma induction conduits and reinitialize driver coil assembly."

There was a negative beep.

"Alex, it didn't work. What do we do now?"

"Great. We'll have to try it manually."

"What do I do?"

"It'll be simple," Alexander said, trying to assure her. Miria was dubious. "Go over to the core. There's a railing. Do you see the mote-like pit surrounding the core?"

"Yes," she said, sizing up the reactor, silently hoping radiation was not leaking. "I see it."

"I need you to climb behind the rail and look down into the pit."

"What?! I'm not going down there. That safety rail's there for a reason: Stay out!"

"Miria."

Miria paused to mentally prep herself and secure her hair, which had tumbled free some time ago. Awkwardly ducking under the rail, she leaned her head down into the opening. Miria had no idea what she was looking for and was about to say so when a tremor rocked the ship; the ambassador tumbled headlong into the pit.

"What was that?!" the precariously positioned female irritably demanded.

"Weapons fire; they've found us."

"Well, return fire!"

"No can do," he refuted, "They'll be able to triangulate our position."

"I thought you said they found us."

"Might have been a lucky shot, no way to be sure, but if I shoot, it'll give away our position, for sure. I'm on the move, but I can't dodge them indefinitely."

"Fine, what am I looking for?" Miria demanded, regaining her footing.

"Two large cylindrical conduits: they should be the only ones not glowing."

"I see 'em," she reported triumphantly, "Are they supposed to be connected to the core?"

"Yeah."

"Well they aren't. They're sticking straight up."

"That's not them," Alexander said with a short tone, "Try again."

"Don't get cheeky. I'm trying my best."

Continuing forward, Miria grumbled to herself about crawling around in the belly of a little _shuttlecraft_ in the middle of nowhere. There was more turbulence, and fire-suppressant sprung up in her face.

"Cloak has failed." Alexander's voice was urgent and forceful.

"Now, I see them," Miria said between coughs. The suppressant had sent her into a hacking fit, "One has a round thingy with a bar on it that's perpendicular, the other one has the same, but is parallel, and they're not touching."

"Okay this is good," he said, another blast jolting them, "drop the…um…'round thingy' into place, then rotate the lever so that it locks into position. They should look the same now." "I got it!"

"Great job. Get back to the console; you know what to do."

Miria scrambled from the pit to the station and reentered the instructions.

"Done!"

"Engaging engines, Warp Six," he triumphant voice came over the com. A moment passed, and then, "We're clear. The enemy did not pursue."

Sighing with relief, Miria lay back on the console and slid to the floor.

_That wasn't so bad, I guess._

* * *

"Treimer!" the Colonel shouted. Inhaling sharply, he was jolted awake by the sound of his own outcries. Breathing heavily, he fought against his restraints until realizing he was still just strapped in. Struggling, the Colonel yanked himself free of his harness and then collapsed against his seat. Covering his face, he caught his breath and forced his racing heart to slow.

Closing his eyes, he saw flashes of the battle: weapons fire, a burning fighter – one of his own – spinning out of control and bursting into a quick burp of flame. Gasping, the Colonel forced his eyes open and sat up quickly. Nausea overtook him. Putting his head between his knees, careful to keep his eyes open, he waited for it to pass.

Once control was regained, the Colonel ordered his thoughts. They escaped, but just barely. Hidden in the asteroid field under the cover of the green fog. The Colonel had been drifting in and out of consciousness for several hours now. His fighter was heavily damaged, the controls dead.

_Treimer_.

They had moved clear of the fleet together and the Colonel had towed him to safety. His subordinate's vessel was adrift just a few meters from him. Wiping away the carbon scoring from his once transparent canopy, the Colonel could see it. The fighter was flipped over, opposite the direction of his own. Since up or down had no meaning in space, it was of no consequence.

Still, seeing Treimer's motionless body pressed against the cockpit's transparency was unsettling to the Colonel. Upon closer inspection, he could make out the bloodied face of his wingman. There was no vapor on the canopy near his mouth.

_He's not breathing._

"Treimer," the Colonel called out. His headset was dead. "Sergeant Treimer, do you copy?"

The fighter's com was down, too.

"Treimer!" The Colonel yelled again, banging against his own canopy.

_As if sound carried in space_, he mentally kicked himself.

There was a hum, and then something shot overhead. At the sight of it, he had another flash of the battle. A scout ship, he remembered. As long as their fighters were powered down, they would remain protected; the cloud made them impervious to their sensors. They were just inert debris.

"Pretty close to it," he muttered.

_Two, three…four, five_, the Colonel counted. They had about a half an hour, if he remembered correctly, before the scouts returned. It was all the time they had; that last patrol was much closer than any of the others had been.

Waiting a few more moments, he powered up his sensor array.

_C'mon, TBird. Be alive._

* * *

"Report!"

"Sensors are offline again, sir; we're blind," Crewman Dûr called out.

Lieutenant Vance was somewhere in the aft section of the cramped shuttlecraft. With interior illumination offline, Susannah could see nothing. B'tia, the toddler granddaughter of the aging mother of one of _Searchlight_'s crewmembers, was crying again. Silently, the girl had slept in the arms of the elderly matron for the majority of their stint aboard; ever since they had been turbulently bombarded, the bawling had not ceased. That is, until the brazen Lieutenant loudly demanded their status. She breathed a sigh of relief at the respite from the noise.

"Excuse me, Doc," Vance said, emerging from the darkness. She quickly evacuated the seat and made way for him, but remained close by to listen. "How's Koday?"

"He's…fine," she lied. There was nothing more she could do; they needed Vance focused.

"Weapons are down," Dûr continued, "warp and impulse engines are useless, thrusters only. We got no shields, and life support is at thirty-two percent. There're micro fractures all along our starboard nacelle and we're venting plasma. The deflector is burnt out. Structural integrity is buckling in the aft-section, but containment fields are holding. The subspace transceiver and communications array are toast. And artificial gravity is failing."

"Well, what do we have, Crewman?"

"The backup power generator is holding," Dûr said, exhaling, "thrusters, like I said, transporters are operational again, and the replicator is still online."

"The replicator? Really?" the Lieutenant inquired with a surprised and hopeful tone. "That's usually the first thing to go. At least we won't starve to death."

Silently, Susannah waited patiently. She was becoming restless and a little anxious.

"Looks like we've got everyone were gonna get, Doc," Vance told her, finally, "We can't risk using transporters like this. They'd most likely end up piles of goo in our aft-section."

Susannah grimaced and nodded acknowledgment, biting her lip.

"That Chaffee is packed full, but they have a lot more room than we do," he said, "if we hadn't transported everyone over when we did, there wouldn't be enough air to go around."

"Before we lost sensors, it looked like they were alright," Dûr interjected, "The shuttle was disabled, but everything else looked good. Your patients should be just fine."

"So, now what?" she finally asked, ignoring the discrepancy: many of those patients were in fact in need of immediate medical attention. "It doesn't look like a rescue is coming anytime soon."

Looking out across the clearing, Susannah could see the remains of the fleet. The starships were hard to make out at such a distance, and without the bright blues and reds of their engines it was even harder, but they were there. Whether or not the crews survived was anyone's guess.

Their attackers left as quickly as they came. Ships larger than Susannah had ever seen, or even heard of, descended on the fleet without warning. Defenses down, her compatriots rallied to mount a counter attack, but the pinnacle of Federation technology paled against the onslaught. The fleet was fortunate to have several squadrons of fighters among its ranks, but their attempts to stave off the enemy were futile.

Susannah recalled her view of the battle literally being blackened as wave after wave of enemy support craft swarmed from their colossal mothership until the starships were obscured from sight. When the space cleared, she expected to see nothing, but instead, from the vantage point of their little shuttle several thousand kilometers away, the fleet looked undamaged. Adrift, but undamaged.

It was Susannah's theory that the crews had been taken prisoner. She could think of no other reason why the ships had been left intact but not salvaged. Or why the enemy would wait around for so long: nearly a half an hour passed before the larger ships left and the scouting patrols began. Vance had agreed to commence immediate rescue operations of the nearby survivors. Unfortunately, they were quickly discovered by the patrols and were forced to take refuge within the gaseous cloud after taking heavy damage. Perched in the shadow of an asteroid's crater, they hid.

"We've got thrusters and a window; let's go take a look-see," Vance suggested, immediately going to work at his console.

"What about those scout ships?" Susannah protested, "The moment we leave this little hiding place of yours, they're bound to find us."

"We'll fly along the perimeter of the clearing using the asteroids and the gas cloud's EM field for cover," he informed her confidently, his tone casual, brushing off her concerns.

"The last time we ran into one of –" she began.

"At the first sight of trouble, we'll duck for cover, snuggle up real close to one of these floating boulders, and power down. We'll be fine; nothing to worry about, Doc."

For some reason, Susannah did not feel very reassured.

* * *

[A5] "So, what was its name?"

Alexander and Miria were on the Bridge of _Solara_. Making what repairs he could, they were retreating to the asteroid field as fast as the little starship would allow. Blasting out of the star system at near maximum warp had blown a few of their already damaged systems. They were now limping back at Warp 2 with minimal systems and no crew.

"I'm sorry?" he said to her query.

"The ship, what was its name?" Miria asked again.

"I'm not following you."

"You're wearing a red shirt now," she said, "not gold."

"What _are_ you going on about?" Alexander turned to face Miria, bewildered by her inquiries. An incredulous smile slowly spread across his lips.

"You're an Ops officer, a ship designer by trade, so you fall under the broad term of engineer," Miria stated; it was quite clear she was implying something. "Both the engineering and security departments are designated by the yellow on their uniform. You're wearing red now."

"And?"

"Besides admirals, only pilots and starship command officers wear red. A simple promotion doesn't warrant a color change. You've always found the non-reactive controls of a starship to be tediously boring; obviously, you were assigned a command post," Miria concluded her deductions, "So, what was its name?"

Alexander let out a sigh, "You're good, you know that?"

"And you're being evasive."

He exhaled noisily through his nostrils and pursed his lips. Uncrossing his arms, Alexander returned his attention to the helm.

"As the sole official representative of the Federation Council out here in the middle of nowhere, I have a lot of clout; it would be easy to find out."

"Refresh my memory, what is the political term for 'power abuser'?" he asked rhetorically.

Miria only laughed in reply while he pretended to be busy with the controls.

"First Officer, USS _Montgomery_," Alexander finally answered, caving.

"Ironic," she mused, "good for you. What happened?"

Melodramatically waving his arm at the space around them, he replied, "Spent a few weeks at _Pathfinder_ before the assignment began, so I hadn't even left headquarters when I was ordered to the ship yards at _Utopia Planitia_ to assist in overseeing the final production phase of several _Prometheus_-class ships. I was told I would be joining up with the _Montgomery_ in a few weeks, but I was barely at _Utopia_ a week before being pulled for this little task."

"I don't suppose they'll wait for you," she said with a sympathetic look.

He remained silent, thinking. None of their lives would wait for them, he imagined.

"Things have been so busy the last few days I hadn't really thought about it," Alexander confided, "I've had everything else on my mind, but now, I think I just realized how deep were in: so much for traipsing around the Gamma quadrant for a few months and then going back to our lives. There's a whole ship of people with interrupted plans. The _Vanguard _crew – what's left of them – didn't sign on for this anymore than we did."

Miria was silent; reflecting, he surmised. Alexander's mind began to wander as he considered the vast implications of their predicament. Lost as those they had come to rescue, things were decidedly more complex and, he feared, would continue to complicate.

"Alex," his friend said, her voice soft, cutting through the quiet, "I'm sorry."

Turning once more from his console, Alexander saw her face was downcast. His forehead crinkled as he scrutinized her and patiently waited for her to clarify.

"For not listening to you," Miria said, "I'm sorry. You were right about the colony and the risk being too great. If I had just-"

"Miria."

"Alex, the mission was a complete failure. It's my fault."

"There was no way to know what would happen," he insisted, "but, these things _do_ happen. We did it by the book and were lucky to even get away with our lives. Comes with the job. You know that."

"You knew," Miria protested. "You knew it was too dangerous to proceed my way, but I wouldn't listen."

"At least I didn't say I told you so," he joked. "Is this really the first diplomatic mission you blew?"

"It's the first time anyone's died under my command."

He blanched, barely concealing his response.

_Dang it,_ he mentally berated himself. _How could I be so insensitive_?

That was very out of character for Alexander, but with all the excitement, the repairs, and his ponderings of their being marooned, he had all but forgotten. Barely acquainted with the fallen officers, Alexander had not given so much as thought to the good men and women whom had died. Guilt swept over him. He had always been so resolute to never be that kind of officer, to just dismiss the death of a comrade.

_Never again._

Squeezing her hand, Alexander gave a sympathetic smile. It was hardly sufficient, but was all he could seem to muster. Returning his gaze to the stars streaming by, somber silence continued.

"I do what I do so that violence can be avoided."

He nodded slowly with sympathy, but before Alexander could respond, his console began beeping. "Hmm…that's odd," he said, "I'm getting strange sensor readings from the fleet."

"What? You mean were here already?"

"Yeah, we just dropped out of warp," he replied, "Why?"

"Alex, I'm not sensing anyone."

"We are still pretty far out," he offered, "And there's a lot of interference, maybe it's messing with your empathic abilities too."

"No," she protested, analyzing the sensor data for herself, "We were a lot farther out before, when we were taking readings of the gas cloud. There are thousands of people in the fleet. I should be able to sense them as a group."

"You're right something's up," he said, "they're not responding to hails."

The sensor readings were garbled with interference. Much more than when they left.

"These radiation signatures almost look like residual weapons fire."

_Crack_

The _Solara _was jolted. The lights dropped as Red Alert was triggered.

"What was that?" Miria called out. Another jolt followed.

"Raise shields: someone's shooting at us."

The _Solara _took two more hits before Alexander was able to escape into the cloud. His scans showed no enemy vessels, or friendly ones for that matter.

"The Imperion?" Miria wondered.

Alexander, in a frenzy at his console, shrugged.

"Were being hailed," Alexander informed his copilot, who was as puzzled as he. "I'm putting it on screen."

Above the _Solara's_ forward viewport was the viewer. The signaled was weak and static plagued the image, but it was obvious the signal was friendly.

"Sorry about that, sirs," said the man. "I had to get you outta sight before they saw you."

"Before who saw us?" Miria demanded.

"It's not safe here," he informed them. The bright tail of a fighter dropped into their view. "There's a dense cluster of asteroids three hundred kilometers to port; follow me."

The transmission clicked off as the fighter darted away. _Solara _quickly followed but was not as maneuverable in the clutter as the compact combat craft. Alexander eased the runabout into the midst of the towering space-boulders. The Marine had already set down in the shadows of the largest. Bringing them to a halt, Alexander set the autopilot to maintain the current distance between the asteroids. The viewscreen lit up again.

"Colonel Skahticus?" Alexander asked, as he managed to clear up the image.

"That's right, Commander. Didn't expect to run into the two of you out here."

"What is going on, Colonel?" Miria demanded once more.

"You don't know?"

"We've just returned from a diplomatic mission to a local colony," Alexander replied. "We were attacked, and barely made it out alive. Lost all but one of our crew. We haven't had contact with the fleet since we left."

"You were one of the lucky ones then, sir."

Miria and Alexander exchanged uneasy looks.

"Your fighter looks pretty beat up, Colonel. Why don't you come aboard and we'll talk?"

"Commander, I've got an injured wingman in the backseat."

"We have medical facilities on board," Alexander told him, "I'll beam you both there."

"Much appreciated."

* * *

Author's Note:

I'm sorry it's taken SO long to update. This one may need some more revising, but I said...ah, what the heck, just take it. Reviews, comments, and critiques are, as always, much appreciated and VERY welcome.

Enjoy

PS The document uploader is giving me hell. It's not saving things the way I change them, creating all kinds of strange spelling errors, removing spaces around italicized words, deleting lines in two case, and more crap. I'm working on figuring out and fixing it. A special thanks to Pacificuser to pointing out my need for proof-reading. I beg mercy.


	21. IV: Reigns 2

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

**Story Revamp: 07/01/2009 **

**Chapter Update: 07/22/2009  
**

Warning! Proceed no further. This story has undergone a major overhaul. Plot, characters, arrangement, chapters, you name it, have all been changed, added, deleted, altered etc. Unless you're a new reader, reading after July 1st, 2009, I suggest you go back and start with the newly added Prelude and continue on. You may recognize much of the story. A few installments have even only had minor changes, but unless you want to be lost, go back and start over. Besides, its' been like six months since I last posted...reread it. :D

* * *

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

IV: Reigns

TWO

Miria, Alexander, and Colonel Skahticus stood outside the niche that passed for a Sickbay – two biobeds against the bulkheads, staggered with barely a walkway between them – aboard the runabout. Ensign Baxter was resting comfortably; between the two of them, Miria and Alexander had managed to treat her. The rest of their crew – two crewman, an ensign and the seven fallen security officers – was dead. The Colonel had tended to his Sergeant, but the man needed immediate attention they could not provide.

The injured were low on her list of concerns of Miria's concern.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" she demanded heatedly. Alexander's eyes darted to the medical chamber's open door; he closed it and guided them away.

"Gone. Not here. Not there. Not floating in space. No bodies. Just gone, Ambassador," the Colonel's tone was harsh and he sneered when he said her title.

"Surely you're mistaken," Miria insisted. She refused to believe the insolent, irreverent Colonel. "They can't have simply disappeared. Your systems were badly damaged. You probably missed –"

"Listen to me," he spat. "I know what I saw and my scanners were working damn well enough. There's nobody left! They're gone. Everyone is gone."

They were silent for a moment. Miria felt it sink in like a heavy weight on her chest. She felt alone, very alone and beyond that she knew not what to feel. There was no one else to sense, save Alexander and their untoward guest, but she could barely read them.

"Maybe," Alexander said, but paused and restarted, "You said there were several patrols out there. So, you couldn't have been out there long enough for a truly thorough sweep? Am I right, Colonel?"

"Yep," he conceded.

"So, it's possible," Alexander said slowly, "you could have missed something. And there could be any number of reasons why your scans can't detect any life-signs aboard."

"I'll give you that, Commander."

"They can't all just be gone," Miria insisted in disbelief, "There were well over a thousand people on those four ships."

_All those people…Charles…_

The two males nodded but said nothing. Alexander gestured towards a large rectangular conference-table-like-console surrounded by six seats; it was positioned in the center of the upper level on a slightly elevated platform. Four structural support beams stripped of their usual coverings – no doubt an aesthetic choice on Alexander's part – marked the space's four corners. Miria was aware her mind was wandering, but appreciated the reprieve.

The frosted-over, deep, royal blues accenting the cool grays and whites was different than the current trends Miria had seen on newer ships, but she liked it. Fresh from the shipyard, it was equipped with some of the Federation's latest technology, and though highly streamlined and efficient in its compact design, it was not as meager or lean as she might have suspected. She would have to let Alexander know how impressed she was. It would mean a lot to him.

Taking a seat in the first chair she came to, Miria sat quietly with her hands folded as she silently thought. Alexander stood at the opposite end, the table's head, his hands gripping either side, and stared at the blank display. Obviously as far from her as he could be while still being in the half-room, the Colonel faced away, his hands tightly gripping the railing; beyond it was open to the deck below. With her empathy, his disdain and contempt was more than obvious. In truth, it was not really hidden.

Miria had the professional tact and wisdom to keep her feelings buried, but despite the positive roll he had played thus far, she was hardly fond of him either. He was abrasive, disrespectful, pretentious, and often condescending. Not the ideal colleague, but diplomacy was her career and he could be tolerated, handled. Oddly, she felt she should be more grateful to the man hunting down her estranged fiancé, but instead, it made him more repugnant.

"Can we access your scans from here, Colonel?" Alexander asked with a noisy exhale. He meandered his stout, stocky frame over to Alexander's lithe form, and nodded slightly. The flat tabletop lit up as Alexander brought the console to life and then showed the Colonel where he could do whatever it was he needed to do. The layout changed and a map of the asteroid field appeared. The portion where the fleet lay was magnified several times until Miria could almost see the names inscribed on the starships' hulls.

"Doesn't look like there was too much damage," Alexander noted.

"No, not really," the Colonel replied. "Most of the debris is…fighters."

Miria was surprised by the sense of loss he felt. It saddened her more, somehow quantifying the magnitude of loss into something fathomable.

"How many?" She asked quietly. "How many did you lose?"

He shot her a look. It was a mix of things: surprise, scorn, confusion, and more.

"All but me and my wingman," his response was curt and matter-of-fact.

Miria decided silence was the best thing she could offer.

"You were sure right about them being empty. It's strange." He had been speaking in hushed deliberate tones ever since they had heard the news of the attack. "Look here. There're maybe fifteen-twenty escapepods and shuttles scattered through here. Along the rim too. And around the rupture. With this EM field, you probably only picked them up because you were right on top of 'em. Did you see anybody alive?"

"We only checked out a few on our way back to the fleet at the end of our last patrol. They were empty or dead."

"They're could be people alive on the other ones. Or survivors from the attack," Miria said. "We need to help them. We have to."

"I agree," Alexander added.

"We can't just stick our neck out there in the open," the Colonel parried, "those patrols'll come down on us like a bat'leth. My ship's in too bad a shape to defend itself, much less this tub."

"She can hold her own," Alexander refuted simply.

"What kind of arms you got," the Colonel queried skeptically with a raised eyebrow.

"I won't lie. She's not a warship, and she wasn't built for trench battles. But, I'm confident in _Solara's_ ability to protect us." Alexander told him, and then began listing off specifications that were beyond Miria's technical level. The Colonel answered in various intonations of grunts. "We burned up a lot just getting away. We're down to a handful of Quantums and a few more Photons than that, the rest is micro-torpedoes. And the starboard dorsal phaser strip is fried."

The Colonel seemed uncomfortable with the notion. He shook his head.

"You're not suggesting we just abandon them?" Miria piped up.

"We can't take 'er out like this," the Colonel said to Alexander, ignoring Miria. It infuriated her, as did their incessant predilection for assigning gender to inanimate objects. She held her tongue, sensing he may be about to yield. "but I think we can patch 'er up."

"I'm game, if you are," Alexander said lightheartedly. "We might find the whole fleet hidden in escapepods somewhere in this foggy mess for all we know. As long as we steer clear of those patrols."

"Couldn't hurt to look."

"Alright," Miria proclaimed cheerily, "It's settled then. Let's get to work."

The Colonel eyed her dubiously and laughed.

Miria refused to acknowledge him.

"It's pushing oh-three hundred," Alexander stated. "what do you say we call it a night? We can do a quick walk through, make sure were not about to explode or anything, and then get some rest. Someone should keep an eye out and check in on sickbay, so we'll rotate."

"That's a good idea, Alex. I'll take the first shift," Miria informed them decidedly, knowing she would do far better staying up even later than with a two hour shift shoved between four hours of sleep.

"Colonel," Alexander said gesturing away, "let's give her a once over, and then I'll show you were you can bunk."

As the two left and Miria headed for the Bridge, she paused and called after them, "Breakfast: oh-nine-hundred! We'll meet and make plans then!"

* * *

The shadowy fog churned tumultuously, violently antagonizing; the sooty darkness strobed with teeming jade tendrils that spread their venomous radiance. A visage became noticeable in the murk. The luminance tinged the image with its wrong hue, bringing life to the irises. A face, the eyes – piercing, menacing, accusing – two emeralds, reached relentlessly and clutched tightly.

_You struggle in vain._

The image wavered. It was only a reflection. She jerked away and ran, but found no footing and tumbled into the unfathomable depths. A scream rose but could not breach her throat.

Then the eyes, again, caught and held her. The color seeped away as they changed, a ruddy-gold taking its place. Stretching and narrowing to sharp angles, the potent, knowing, familiar orbs watched.

_You?!_

A shriek bubbled from her lips as she remembered everything.

The amber eyes erupted in flame, threatening to consume her.

_No_, _not yet._ _Forget._

Memories swirled as mist at the word.

_You can forget, for now. You'll remember when it's time._

The eyes engulfed her.

_Forget._

"Ahh!" A'læ cried out, breaking free into reality. The nightmare faded away into only a disturbing whisper of a memory. Only the word _forget_ lingered. It was the second time she had dreamt it. Only an anxious void remained, where something else had once been. Receding like the tide into her subconscious, it hid from her. With every breath, A'læ felt it wisped away until only a faint trace of a thing niggled. She soon forgot she was even trying to remember anything at all. Her eyes opened; it was gone.

A'læ was lying face down. At first, she was sure was injured and felt frantic, anxious, worried, frightened, but as she sat up, her strong demeanor and composure returned; a quick examination showed she was fine.

She was in an escapepod. It was in prime condition. Through the viewport lay the edge of the asteroid field and green cloud just beyond her. Sitting at the modest controls, A'læ began running a series of sensor sweeps. The fleet was several thousand kilometers away, but emitted only minimal energy signatures There was a smattering of shuttles and escapepods as well.

Her last memory was of being aboard D'Landrii's Captain's Yacht. She had detected numerous foreign signals enter the clearing when they were suddenly boarded. An energy pulse of some type rendered them all unconscious.

_How did I get here?_

There was no sign of the Yacht or pods with her Captain or his entourage. No one responded to her hails or distress signal either. A'læ set a course for the fleet and hoped the answers lie there.

* * *

Deep within the bowels of _Solara_'s lower deck, Colonel Skahticus was on his backside beneath a series of warp-plasma conduits. The runabout had only two decks, but every ship has its nooks and crannies that could only be reached by crawling on hands an knees. While Lt. Commander Erikssen was lean and lanky and could scamper about with ease, the Colonel was not so fortunate, his bulk hampering him at every turn.

He felt cramped and a touch claustrophobic. A few bumps and bruises were nothing to complain about, and he was not one easily injured, but after knocking his head, knees, elbows, and other sensitive parts numerous times, the Colonel's was cross. Sleep was also in short supply.

He was unfortunate to be given the middle shift and had slept solidly for near two hours, but it was hardly adequate, even with his extensive fatigue-coping training.

Dragging in for his rotation, bleary eyed and cantankerous, the Colonel was surprised to have found Erikssen already hard at work in Engineering: something about trouble sleeping. After checking on the sensors and looking in on Treimer, he offered to relieve Erikssen, but he declined. "Wouldn't be worth it," and "Too much to do," he had said. The Colonel could appreciate that and respected him more so for it.

Except for the occasional jaunts to the replicator for coffee or to the Bridge, they kept at it, tediously trudging through the damages. Erikssen impressed him with his knowledge and skill; he was easy to work with, too, if not mildly a push-over. They shared several interests and hobbies, he learned; ships, rock-climbing, and Velocity* – both enjoyed playing, but neither cared for watching – were among them. As the night, or morning, wore on, he was pleased with their progress, but there was so much more to do.

"How's it look?" Erikssen called out from somewhere.

Jerking at the intrusion, the Colonel smacked his head against the transparent casing. He cursed freely, and continued mumbling as he hauled himself out. Erikssen, surprisingly clean, was arms deep in a fissure.

"Busted," he replied simply. "But it's fixed."

"Good work," Erikssen said with a satisfied smiled. He was too smiley for the Colonel's taste, but, admittedly, he did not dislike the man. "You are quite the skilled Engineer."

"You think Starfleet's the ones only well-rounded out there?"

Erikssen shook his head and laughed, sitting back on his haunches. The Colonel had not meant it as a joke, but as a jab at Starfleet's ostentations. The Lt. Commander appeared to ready a mollifying remark.

"Miria to Alex," Erikssen's combadge chirped. The Colonel groaned at the sound of that voice. "Where are you? We're supposed to be meeting."

He looked puzzled and tapped the badge.

"What time is it?"

"About oh-nine twenty," she replied.

_It's a lot later than I thought. _

_ "_Can you wake the Colonel, please. I don't think it would go very well coming from me. He's not very –"

"Uh, um," he said cutting her off anxiously, "_We're_ already at it, guess we lost track of time. We'll…uh…meet you up there shortly."

"Okay," was the loaded answer.

Erikssen seemed to be searching for words.

"How do you stand her," the Colonel sneered. They started the arduous crawl back out.

"I'm sorry?"

"The Ambassador, your friend," he clarified with sardonicism. "She's…dim. Naïve."

"I'd have to disagree," Erikssen refuted, with tactful ridicule of the remark. They paused at a hatch. "She's one of the most brilliant and accomplished people I know."

"She's bunkin' it out with the bastard that's responsible for all of this."

"What she does on her personal time and who she does it with is her business, as for her engagement," he said defensively, "she's always been an excellent judge of character; she is an empath. He must have went to extreme and unconventional means to deceive her. If I were you, Colonel, I'd give her the benefit of the doubt, considering the circumstances."

"She's a fraud."

"I trust her implicitly."

The Colonel was about to rebuttal when Erikssen pushed open the hatch and climbed through. Following, he saw the Ambassador standing impatiently on the level above. Begrudgingly, he fell silent. Nonetheless, he had to give it to the Commander; he was good friend to those he called "friend." It bothered him; he knew the trust was misplaced.

* * *

The shuttle skimmed slowly along the underside of the _Achilles_. Just beyond, was his ship: the _Vanguard. _It was comforting to see her sleek and powerful form, his home. He was shocked as the starship came into full view. The sight of her maimed form sickened Kaleb. To see the jagged shard piercing the saucer was a shock; he heard Cavenaugh call out when _Vanguard _crept into view. The once magnificent sister of Starfleet's flagship had dimmed to an empty shell. He was surprised when he felt his eyes moisten. It was eerie: the starships lifeless and adrift in a secret graveyard.

"How the hell…" Kaleb breathed reverently.

"This is bad, this is really bad."

"I don't think anybody's home," he said finally. "Not that we have the sensors to tell."

"I think somebody would have noticed us by now," Cavenaugh said from over his shoulder. She was nervous. "I don't feel safe. We should…go."

"Go where?" he asked with an incredulous laugh. "We have nowhere to go. Our shuttle is almost dead. The best chance we have of survival is somewhere in this war zone."

Kaleb noticed her hand was resting on his shoulder, so he gave it a comforting squeeze, but she soon pulled away. He didn't know what that meant.

"I wanna stretch my legs before we keep looking," Kaleb announced, rising and offering his seat to her. Other than slowing as he passed by, he had not checked on Koday since bringing him aboard, so busy in the bedlam.

Only three other passengers remained, freeing up much needed space and air. The cadet lay on a bench seat. He was stiff and tensed; his brow glistened but he was cool to the touch. The wound on his leg had been treated, mostly. Cavenaugh's dermal regenerator was crushed during the melee and their replicator lacked the sophistication to produce a new one. She had said he was fine, but Kaleb now doubted her truthfulness. Koday looked terrible.

"What is that?"

"I don't see anything," Dûr told the doctor.

"There. Something's moving."

"Whenever you ask that question," Kaleb rejoined them quickly. "Something bad always happens."

"At least you know to trust my eyes."

"I don't see anything," he insisted. "Where are you – "

"We're being hailed," Dûr interrupted excitedly. He fumbled with the mangled controls.

"Put it up!"

"…Federation Shuttlecraft. Repeat, this is the USS _Solara_ to unidentified Federation Shuttlecraft." A garbled female voice filled their ears with hope.

"We read you _Solara_," Kaleb called back excitedly; he was relieved and rejuvenated with optimism.

"Do you require assistance?"

"Copy that, _Solara,_" Kaleb said, his voice smiling. "We request _immediate_ assistance; we're running blind on fumes. We'll take a beam out if you've got the room. We've got injured and a doctor who just needs some supplies."

"Acknowledged. Standby for transport."

* * *

"Memlillia to Erikssen," Miria's voice chirped to his combadge. Alexander noted her use of their surnames and the wisdom of it. With new passengers, increased professionalism would help foster order amidst the aftermath.

"Go ahead, Ambassador," Alexander answered.

"We have seven more," she said, "a few are injured and one is a doctor."

"Well, our little Sickbay is full, but send them there anyway," he told her. "The rest can go with the others in the starboard personnel transport module. I'll meet them there."

"Understood."

Alexander was grateful _Solara_ had that extra space. When necessary, runabouts were used as transport-ships for ferrying sizable numbers of people, soldiers, or crews over short distances. Two detachable modules were joined to the hull beneath the warp nacelles and could each seat up to twenty-five individuals. It was not by any definition comfortable or to be considered long term accommodations, but it was spare room.

After venturing into the clearing, and two close calls with scouting patrols, they had already rescued six people from escapepods and eight from a shuttle adrift at the edge of the cloud. Three were enlisted crewman, the rest were family members of officers and crewmembers. All were injured. The most severe were in Sickbay, while the other's waited in the hold. He and the Colonel, in Engineering once more, were returning their attention to the tasks at hand. The Colonel gave a hardy pat to the warp core casing and smirked, "Not bad."

"You wanna finish up here? Let me know what you find? I've got to play host."

"Yep," he said, a smile slowly forming, "But isn't that what the Ambassador's for?"

"You'd think," Alexander laughed. "Once we pick up someone capable or well enough to hold things down up there, she'll be welcome to it."

* * *

Susannah, rematerializing, breathed deeply. She did not like transporters. The idea of being pulled apart at the molecular level, sent flying across vast distances, and reassembled made her nauseous. To her, it was not natural.

The din that met her ears shook her from her reverie and a cacophony flooded her senses. Looking around, she found herself in a small, narrow space equipped with medical equipment. There were two beds, one held an unconscious female with severe plasma burns on her face and chest; all the hair was scorched away. The smell was sickening.

On the other, sat an elderly couple clutching one another. Both had numerous lacerations and were quite frightened. Their eyes pleaded with her. Meanwhile, in the rear of the compartment, a young woman with pale green skin wearing a tattered Starfleet uniform cowered against a console. With arms wrapped around her knees, she rocked and was muttering to herself.

Remembering her own patients, Koday and Delilah, she spun about in search of them. Through the exit of the chamber, Susannah saw more patients. A clump of frantic people surrounded the doorway; they grabbed at her. Their words were jumbled in her ears and their myriad questions and pleas did not register.

She saw pitiful excuses for cots lining two, perpendicular, corrugated walkways. Moving left, she searched quickly. With each face, came a speculative diagnosis; some looked oddly familiar. A few patients were very young children. Her heart began to race as she pushed through. She could not find the two and no one answered when she asked for them.

Darting back to the other row, she saw on the last three pallets sheets pulled up over faces. Lurching to them, Susannah took a breath and then quickly peeled back the cloth. As a doctor, she had seen more than her fair share of tragedy, horror, and gore, but she was unprepared for the fetid, mutilated, maw that gaped where a face had once been.

She gasped and quickly recovered the corpse. Moving to the next, she was more tentative as she uncovered it. Susannah's fear was realized when she saw the grey, pale face of the comely young cadet. He was still and no breath came. With final hope, her hand shot to his neck to check for a pulse, but there was none.

Koday was gone.

Dropping to her knees, she let out a small moan. Defeated, she wondered how she would break the news to Lieutenant Vance. Both had put forth so much effort, going to extremes to keep the late young Trill alive.

_He was just a boy, a child_. _He never even got his symbiont._

Susannah was so tired. Her forehead dropped onto the cot and tears welled. Placing a hand on the corpse's chest, she whispered, "I'm sorry."

The body was still warm and she considered that if she had been seconds sooner, there may have been a chance.

_He probably didn't even survive transport, _Susannah surmised. _Wait…_

Jerking upright, she pressed her hand down on its chest. She had felt something. It was faint, possibly her imagination, but she had felt something.

"Quiet," she yelled out. The commotion lulled in shock. With an ear pressed over the heart, Susannah listened for the signs of life in the cadaver. She waited tensely.

_Thump, thump._

"Yes!" She exclaimed.

It was sluggish, erratic, but it was there. Koday was alive. Whipping out her medical tricorder, Susannah scanned him quickly. Then, tipping back his head and clamping his nose, she placed her mouth over his and began breathing life back into him. His chest rose and fell only slightly. She paused between one of the cycles to check his heart rhythm.

"I need 20cc's of Leporazine, now!"

When no one came, she called out again, begging for someone to help.

Many moments later, an older gentleman, a Bajoran, skittishly approached with an emergency medkit and an instrument tray. Graciously accepting, she then convinced him to take over breathing for her.

Quickly calibrating and giving Koday the potent resuscitory drug, she scanned him again. Satisfied with her readings, she gestured for the man to stop. The seconds ticked by slowly and Koday did not breathe. About to begin again, he suddenly inhaled deeply and jerked violently. Forcefully bracing him, Susannah tried to scan while holding him still. His convulsions worsened and he foamed at the mouth.

"Anaphylactic shock," she noted with frustrated. "I need to –"

His heaving frame dropped. Koday crumpled and lay still.

"His heart stopped," she told them man, "get his shirt off."

The man shook nervously as he complied. Susannah searched the tray, tossing irrelevant items aside haphazardly until she found what she wanted. Loading a small dose of Tricordrazine, she administered the powerful stimulant.

"5cc's," she whispered, fearful of the drug. "I hope it wasn't too much."

Her scan showed no changed.

"Okay, sir. Stand back."

Placing the small arrowhead-shaped cardiostimulator to the left of his sternum, she punched several of its tiny buttons. Holding the control mechanism, she deftly configured the proper settings in seconds.

"Starting at…200 joules," she said calmly. "And…Clear!"

The device sent a jolt of electricity through Koday, causing his cardiothoracic musculature to contract. His body spasmed in response. The heart monitor pulsed twice and returned to a monotone signal.

"Come on Koday," Susannah whispered to him as she stuck the hypospray to his neck again. "Another 5ccs of Tricordrazine. If he were alive…he would be dead. Okay…360 joules. And clear."

He jerked again as she watched her scanner with suspense. The shock and the medication in conjunction might destroy his heart tissue, but the tricorder brought good news.

"Sinus rhythm," she breathed a sigh of relief. "He's stable for now."

The gentleman nodded sporadically, sweat dripping from his brow. He was quite shaken.

"Good work," Susannah told him with a comforting squeeze, "Thank you. I couldn't have done it with out you."

He swallowed and nodded again silently.

"We need to move him to a biobed," she said, "I need to speak to whomever is in charge. Where is the doctor?"

"You're it," someone said sardonically.

Looking about, Susannah noticed they had drawn a crowd. The owner of the voice was reclining a few pallets down. A black helmet, a matching lean-but-armored-EVA-suit-crossed-with-a-Starfleet-uniform, and a formidable weapon were piled by the cot. Wearing a smirk, he was strapping, strikingly handsome and bare-chested. She gulped and her cheeks burned when she realized she was gawking. Then his words registered.

"Oh."

* * *

Alexander passed through the doors and then quick-stepped across the deck to another set of doors. They opened to the corridor of the four officer and crew quarters. The access to the personnel transport module – or simply the hold – was at the end to his left.

As he approached, Alexander was secretly hopeful Admiral Montgomery or Captain D'Landrii waited behind that door. Pausing to straighten his uniform and his hair, he adopted an especially courteous and pleasant demeanor. Regardless of who they had rescued, interpersonal diplomacy was as much a responsibility of command officers as was leadership, battle skills, and scientific prowess. Rising to his full height, he stepped through the hatch and into what sounded like a heated argument.

"– we need to go back there right now."

"It is being taken care of," Alexander heard Miria say tersely, "Please, if you would just remain calm. We can discuss –"

He lost sight of her and her words became muddled. The occupants were milling uncomfortable. Navigating his way into the midst, he saw three of their new passengers: An elderly woman and infant girl, and a dark-skinned male crewman in yellow. "Is everything okay here?" he called to Miria as he closed in.

"Alex!?"

"Kaleb?!" Alexander exclaimed in disbelief. He absently noticed he had shoved Miria aside as he bolted forward. Meeting him halfway, his friend caught him in a tight embrace. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were dead." Alexander asked and stated in one sentence, squeezing him tightly. "Gah, you stink."

"Am I glad to see you? You would not believe…Ugh. This has been the worst – what has it been…week? – of my life. Uck. I need a shower."

Alexander laughed aloud.

"You two know each other?" Miria interrupted, her arms crossed, eyeing them dubiously.

"I'm sorry, forgive me," Alexander said, his eyes clenched as he shook his head. "Miria, this is Lieutenant Vance. Kaleb is a friend of mine; He's the one who went missing back at the station."

"I see," she seemed shocked, but covered it well.

"Kaleb, meet Ambassador Memlillia."

Alexander was certain he saw an explosion of sparks as they eyed each other and then him as they tentatively shook hands and exchanged the customary rank/title acknowledgment: "Lieutenant." "Ambassador."

"Alex, listen I'm glad you're here," Kaleb spoke up, "I was just telling the Ambassador there's a whole shuttle full of injured people out there we need to go back for."

"Of course," he replied, "we'll do everything we can."

"Alex, I have this under control, thank you," Miria said pointedly.

"What are you doing down here?" Alexander asked as the thought came to him. "I thought you had the Bridge."

"I wanted to join you," she said quietly to him, conspicuously glancing at Kaleb. "I'm the Ambassador. People is kinda my business and I figured since we were safely out of sight in the shadow of _Vanguard_, I could leave the Bridge unattended for a moment."

"Okay," he said slowly. Alexander rarely would ever leave the Bridge unattended unless absolutely necessary, but she outranked him and he wouldn't push the issue. Nonetheless, they were in a much more vulnerable position than when hidden between the asteroids; he would be sure to make this brief and get her or himself or someone up there quickly.

He then asked – under the assumption she would comply – with a submissive, could-you-do-me-a-favor tone, "Ambassador, can you get the rest settled? And…then would you mind taking the Bridge again? I need to join the Colonel. Make sure the core is running right."

"Of course, Commander," Miria replied. She was obviously miffed, but covered it well.

"Come on," he said turning to Kaleb, "You can brief me on the way. Let's get you cleaned up. I can't believe you're here. I'm in awe, Kaleb, _really_."

He almost didn't notice Miria's glare as they left.

* * *

Thanks so much for all the great feedback. Sorry, Silver Shadow, wish I could have added more space battles for you. This installment's already been outlined and written, but I'll keep the suggestion in mind; thanks for the props. Hope the chapters are finally long enough for you pacificuser. lol. Enjoy!

Reviews, critiques, etc. are, as always, very welcome.

* * *


	22. IV: Reigns 3

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

**Story Revamp: 07/01/2009 **

**Chapter Update: 07/23/2009  
**

Warning! Proceed no further. This story has undergone a major overhaul. Plot, characters, arrangement, chapters, you name it, have all been changed, added, deleted, altered etc. Unless you're a new reader, reading after July 1st, 2009, I suggest you go back and start with the newly added Prelude and continue on. You may recognize much of the story. A few installments have even only had minor changes, but unless you want to be lost, go back and start over. Besides, its' been like six months since I last posted...reread it. :D

* * *

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

IV: Reigns

THREE

"You're kidding?" Alexander stated more than asked. His tone was mixed with incredulity and mirth. Kaleb was seated in Alexander's quarter aboard the runabout of his friend's own design, running a towel over his damp hair.

"I wish. It's good to feel safe again."

"Relatively speaking."

Kaleb had gratefully and eagerly accepted Alexander's offer to use his quarters for a shower. They had much to talk about, but were equally impatient to get to work. Wishing for a marathon-shower, instead he had been quick, letting the sonic waves dissolve the grime accumulated from too many days and too many situations while he shouted out an abridged recount. Alexander had commented back in kind from the other room as he procured a uniform and combadge for him from the replicator. In the exchange, it was also discovered that some of the refugees were the same people Kaleb had been forced to leave behind in the other disabled shuttle. It was a weight lifted from his shoulders.

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around all this" Alexander admitted, handing him the perfectly folded stack of uniform items. The badge in the shape of the Starfleet insignia was perched atop the articles. Kaleb smiled, smelling the fresh garments, thinking, _Not even Alexander could fold as neatly as a replicator._

"I know, right." Kaleb retorted as he accepted the stack, and then added, "Thanks."

Stepping back into the lav to quickly dress, Kaleb called out, "I've got a billion or so questions, but it seems like you're a little short handed around here. How can I help? You _are_ in charge, right?"

"Well…It's complicated."

"When isn't it," Kaleb laughed, "It always is with you."

"The Ambassador outranks me, but the Admiral put me in charge…sort of. So I think we're kinda of…well, what would you call it…tag-teaming it?" Alexander explained slowly and deliberately.

"If the Admiral put you in charge," Kaleb repeated, pulling the goldenrod tunic over his head as he emerged from the lavatory, "then _you're _in charge, Alex. Why did he, by the way? What, is she not capable or something?"

"No! No, Miria, she's great," he refuted, "I have…uh…complete confidence in her. I'm not really sure why Montgomery sent me other than to safeguard the mission; he favors her."

"Miria, huh?" Kaleb said, "So you two are on a first name basis? And you were really convincing about her being capable, by the way."

"She and I go way back, Kaleb. I met her when we were in the academy the year I studied on Betazed. And served on my first real ship with her. It's not like that at all. She's engaged, anyway…or was. And she _is_ great. Miria graduated from the academy on Betazed in two and a half years, got another degree in Federation Law, and she is an official representative of the Federation Council."

Kaleb scoffed aloud; he was not convinced nor that impressed with her thus far. The notion of hurrying through the academy was ridiculous to him, _life was meant to be lived and enjoyed, not rushed through over-achieving and missing out on what you're working for_.

He angstfully remembered the two weeks he spent on Betazed during his and Alexander's second year of academy training. Fully intending to spend two wonderful semesters at the beautiful campus with a whole new enticing planet to explore – stocked with young, attractive, open-minded females – things went horribly awry.

While in the field for orientation to a survival training course, Kaleb sustained a minor wound to his right big toe. Ignored, it became infected. While easily treatable, his immune defense was weakened and he caught a rare strain of the Tarkalian flu. It quickly became serious and he was sent home to Earth at his mother's firm request. Bedridden at his mother's home for nearly six weeks, he scarcely escaped insanity under her fretful care along with his stepfather's Klingon mantras and cajoling that a warrior would not fight illness lying-down. Upon his return to San Francisco, he barely passed that semester and was forced to play catch-up on his studies all year long.

Brushing the thoughts aside, Kaleb stood from lacing his boots and walked about the cabin. With his hands on his hips and a big grin on his face he said, "This is really great. Your very own ship. How about a tour?"

"Do you wanna get to work or you wanna – " Alexander stopped mid-sentence as the ship rocked violently. "tour?"

"That was weapons fire," Kaleb stated.

"Erikssen to the Bridge, report?"

No response.

"Alexander to Miria, what's going on up there?"

There was a pause and the Ambassador's voice answered, "I'm still with the passengers."

A scowl slowly crossed Alexander's face.

"Come on," he told Kaleb, swatting him on the shoulder, as he darted for the exit.

"I'm right behind you," he answered, snatching up his uniform jacket and sprinting to keep pace with Alexander.

* * *

Alexander burst onto the Bridge and dove for the forward station. Kaleb was hot on his heels. _Solara _had taken several severe strikes without the shields raised; the runabout was not meant for these types of battles.

"Colonel!" he called out, raising their shields. "We could use your help up here."

"Get someone else," came the harsh reply, "I'm busy. Unless you want a core breach!"

"Got it."

He and Kaleb silently coordinated their efforts until they had the systems running in a reasonable fashion again.

"I'm picking up six enemy signals: fighter sized," Kaleb reported.

"Great," Alexander replied sarcastically. "They're tougher than they look."

"Can we take 'em?"

"We have to."

Kaleb had taken helm controls as Alexander had expected him to while he worked fervently on discovering and rerouting damaged systems. _Solara _darted and zipped, using _Vanguard _for cover, but was not as maneuverable as the lithe Imperion raiders.

"I can't keep ahead of them! These controls are kinda sluggish," Kaleb commented.

"They should be!" Alexander retorted hotly. "The port impulse engine is almost gone."

"And could you lay down some cover fire?!" Kaleb shot back.

"In a minute," he answered in kind and then coolly, "Colonel, I need those engines. Can you do something about it?"

"Working on it."

_Solara _barrel-rolled and spiraled in a continuous arc around the frame of _Vanguard. _Kaleb was using the weaker port thruster to keep them spinning and to make their movements more sporadic, harder to target.A shot grazed their aft section, but most of the rapid-fire salvos tore up the battered shell of _Vanguard. _Debris and showers of plasma cascaded in their wake.

"Remember the five by two split," Kaleb inquired, distracted with flying

"Of course," Alexander said with a smile, "It's already programmed in."

Alexander initiated the function and the five primary control features of the Bridge – helm, tactical, operations, engineering, and other (the latter specifically referring to systems Alexander and Kaleb deemed nonessential in battle, which consisted of science, communications, and security) – were equally disbursed in duplicate between their two consoles. "Head for the _Companion_, then double back; I'm gonna drop some mines."

"Wow, she's big," Kaleb breathed as the one-of-a-kind _Pathfinder-_class starship came into view. Alexander realized it was Kaleb's first glimpse, and also that there was so much more he was not yet privy to.

"Computer, Attack Pattern Erikssen Two-Five Alpha," Alexander commanded as he increased power to their aft shields. The computer began auto firing the phaser arrays in rapid succession. Meanwhile, he targeted the nearest raider with the aft micro-photon torpedo tube. Alexander was patient and waited until he had a shot worth firing. The phasers were ineffective, but the micro-burst of antimatter deterred the raiders. In between firing sequences, he dropped a series of inactive torpedoes. Stray enemy fire struck a few which erupted in their pursuers' path.

"Shields are down to thirty-five percent."

"We can't keep this up, Alex."

"Just try to stay a head of them."

"Just keep shooting."

"That was it for Photons and I've got one Quantum left. The rest is micro-photon torpedoes and we'd better try to ration 'em."

"Great."

_Solara_ lurched as the energy bolts throttled their shields. Sparks erupted from the EPS relay system and fire suppressant sprayed out in spouts. Unleashing their arsenal in a sensor-blinding blaze, the red phaser bolts stabbed through the black of space like a fireworks show while flurries of micro-torpedoes showered. The purple and blue snakes of enemy fire crisscrossed their own.

Dropping behind _Companion_, Alexander activated their cloak. It was a substantial drain on power, so they had little time to act. In tandem, they worked swiftly at their consoles.

"Make sure that you –"

"I know, you got the –"

"Yep, is the –"

"No, no I've got it. You –"

"I will. Reroute that –"

"In a second. First –"

"_Alright_. Ready?"

"Okay, let's fly."

* * *

_Solara _skimmed along the towering form of the _Companion _with mere meters of clearance. Scores of pock marks in pairs of strafes marred her beautiful hull. Four consecutive explosions flashed over the starship's profile as the sleeping torpedoes ignited. A larger concussion followed, the burst illuminating the raiders as they shot overhead, making their second pass in single file. Only three remained.

In a twisting arc, _Solara _slingshot-ed, coming up behind the enemy. The stealth field lowered and raised again in seconds, a twinkling blue quantum torpedo flanked by a salvo of amber micro-photons seemed to appear from nowhere. The warheads broke through the rear raider's shields, tearing through its crescent frame; the wild fodder careened into the ship ahead, both erupting instantly into a fiery blaze and fizzling just as quickly.

The final raider swung about, firing blindly into the void. _Solara _dove into its path head on, and, dropping cloak, unleashed a rain of offense. Their crimson bolts sliced through the front deflectors with ease and a single micro-torpedo finished the job in a magnificent detonation. The runabout veered sharply to avoid the fallout and retreated to safety.

* * *

A series of explosions amidst the fleet had A'læ concerned. She was anxious about the prospect of moving into open space defenseless as she was. The pod plodded along lethargically. She was near the fleet, but developed doubts. Her sensors were not picking up any other lifesigns. Anywhere. Not in the fleet. Not in the gas cloud. No escape pods. No shuttles. Not even the enemy.

_What if I'm really alone?_

Her chest constricted and she inhaled sharply. He cheeks burned hotly as she suddenly became embarrassed by her reaction. There was no one to see and yet it still made her ill. A'læ was stronger than such weak fears, or so she believed.

The iciness lingered, but she brushed it away. She valued her independence and privacy, but she suddenly realized how far away from home she was. The gravity of it loomed much larger now that she faced it alone.

Something, or someone, had caused those explosions, she decided, and A'læ was determined to find out what, or whom.

* * *

Miria rushed through the doors of the Bridge, almost stumbling as she went. An obscure gray shape filled the view. They were so close, she was unsure what she was looking at. It took a moment to realize it was a starship, or part of one, rather.

"Ease her down right over there on those lateral struts," Alexander was telling Lieutenant Vance. "Easy."

"I got it," Vance said quietly; he was quite focused. "I might fly rough, but my landings are smooth."

"Remind me again why you're a security officer."

"Oh, whatever."

Miria cleared her throat and approached. "I'm here," her voice caught slightly and she paused. "Anything I can do to help?"

"No. I think _we've_ got everything under control," Vance said over his shoulder curtly. "Ambassador."

"Good. That's good," she said with forced positivety. "Alex, where…where are we?"

"Between _Companion_'s warp nacelles," he said.

To anyone else, the answer would have been sufficient, but Miria knew that tone. She had never before been the recipient, but had been witness many times. It was flat, but not rude; short, but not curt; informative, but disconnected. Her blood boiled hot and her skin shivered cold.

_Indifference._

There was a slight bump as they touched down.

"This was a great idea, Alex," Vance said, leaning back from his console. "They'll never look for us here. And we'll blend right in."

Alexander nodded silently and stood up. "There's an…_issue_ with the EPS manifold, I'm gonna go check it out. I'm sure the Colonel has his hands full down there."

"You want me to hold things down here?" Vance asked, his eyes darted to Miria.

"I could really use your help with repairs. The navigational array is a mess and the port nacelle is barely holding together. I…"

Miria clenched her fists in anger; she felt invisible, and a pang of guilt lingered.

"Go, Lieutenant," she interjected coolly, "I've got it covered."

"Thank you," Alexander said in the exact same tone.

"Alex," Vance said. He glanced at her with obvious laughable disdain and then turning his head back, "I think I know someone who could help us out. He was a great help when I was stranded on that shuttle."

Alexander gave Vance a subtle look, urging him to back down. "Great," he then said calmly, "let him know he can relieve the Ambassador whenever she needs him."

They nodded to one another in awkward agreement.

"Okay…I'm gonna get down there," Alexander said as he shuffled out; Miria's eyes bore into him as she watched him go.

"Vance to Dûr," Vance said tapping his combadge. "Come to the Bridge."

"Acknowledged," came the disembodied voice, "on my way."

Once he heard the reply, Vance walked passed; he was smiling and shaking his head.

When he was gone, Miria let out a growling scream of frustration. Passing back and forth across the small command center, she ranted vehemently to herself for nearly twenty minutes.

_Whoosh_

Miria jumped at the sound. A brown-skinned, bald, middle-aged crewman in yellow entered and snapped to attention. "Commander. Crewman Dûr reporting."

"At ease, Crewman," she sighed. "and…it's Ambassador. The Bridge is yours; you'll contact me if anything comes up?"

"Yes, sir…uh, ma'am."

"And keep an eye out for survivors. That's our primary goal right now."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Thank you, Crewman."

She left him to it and hurried off to find Alexander.

* * *

"Wow," Kaleb said as he caught up to Alexander.

"Don't even, Kaleb. She _is_ your superior officer," he replied dismissively. "And mine."

They entered a conference like space in the primary section of the upper deck. Two ramps, leading fore and aft, were the only means of access as waist-high railing lined the port and starboard perimeter. The periphery was open to below, which was mostly Engineering. Similar handrails followed the inner edge of the walkways that ran a square path round the deck.

The main portion of the upper level consisted of various stations – for ship's functions or with scientific purposes – lining the outer edges with the conference dais in the center. Sickbay and several other chambers comprised the aft-most sections while the Bridge, main docking port, and transporter arch took up the forward.

"Hey, Commander," called out a gruff voice; it came from below. They leaned over the rail. A muscular man of shorter height in black combat gear and a sweat soaked, black, sleeveless shirt stood on the lower deck. His face was fierce; temple ridges added to that notion.

"Colonel?" Alexander answered.

"This is a hardy little ship, but you're tearing her to shit."

Kaleb laughed aloud. The Colonel gave him a sharp look. It was a strange expression, almost as if he were surprised to see him. However, Kaleb did not recognize the man.

"Colonel Skahticus, Lieutenant Vance."

"I need parts," the Colonel said, acknowledging Kaleb with a half hearted, two finger salute. "You got spares? Or we gonna replicate 'em?"

"What do you need?"

"Relays, conduits, deck plating, you name it."

"That bad? I'll show where the storage areas are. I'll meet you down there in five," Alexander said gesturing with his thumb behind them to the other side. "Starboard aft."

The Colonel walked away without response.

"Thanks, by the way. For your help." Alexander called out after him.

"Federation Marines?" Kaleb inquired with more comical disbelief.

"Yeah. We got two actually. The other one's in Sickbay."

"Where'd ya find him?"

"They found us."

Kaleb kept pace as Alexander moved with imperative haste. Here and there, he would stop for seconds at a time for some minute task, fussing and fixing. A deck plate had come loose in the main path, sticking straight up; Kaleb knelt to help put it back in place.

"So, what are we gonna do?"

"Do?"

"What is the plan?"

"Fix _Solara, _rescue survivors."

"And then?"

Alexander stopped. His light brown eyes darted around and then he looked into Kaleb's.

"I don't know if anyone's really thought that far ahead," he said quietly, brushing his hands on his knees and standing. "There's still a lot we don't yet; a lot of questions to be answered. We need to find the Admiral, but the first thing is to stay alive."

"The second: search and rescue." Kaleb interjected

"Third: we get our bearings. Fourth: _then_ we can chart a heading."

"Okay. Let's do it."

As they went to meet the Colonel, Kaleb noticed the only other people on board he had seen were milling about around the Sickbay, which was situated at the back corner of the main area. Several makeshift beds were set up along the walkway. Two of the injured he saw wore uniforms, another he guessed to be the other Marine; none of them looked well. Aside from those prostrate, many others milled about the tight space; he and Alexander had to struggle to get through. Over his shoulder, he saw the Ambassador standing in the conference-room-like-area. She spotted them.

_Uh oh. Here comes trouble._

"Alex," Kaleb said, grabbing his friend's shoulder and nearly shoving him into the compact chamber, "I need to check on someone that was beamed aboard with me. He wasn't doing to well. Can we stop here a minute?"

"Of course, but the Colonel is waiting," he said over the din, "Although…I heard we got a doctor too. I should probably meet him."

Sickbay was truthfully a misnomer; it was a closet.

He spotted Koday asleep on one of the beds; he was finally looking better, to Kaleb's relief. Two civilians sat on the other bed being examined by Doctor Cavenaugh.

"Doc, how's our boy?" Kaleb called out.

Koday's eyes opened and he raised up slowly at the sound of Kaleb's voice.

"Sir?" his question was pitifully shaky but a weak smile spread across his face.

"Hey, buddy," he said ruffling his hair, "It's good to see you alive."

His eyes shone in spite of his pale countenance. Kaleb noticed distinctive spots on Koday's neck and forehead for the first time, and realized he was a Trill.

"Lieutenant," she replied affectionately; to Kaleb, she sounded glad to see him. She stepped away from her patient and said, "he gave me quite a scare earlier, but he's on the mend. You really shouldn't be in here. There's not – Alexander? Alex is that you?"

"Su?!"

Kaleb stepped back as the two approached each other; baffled, he was a speechless spectator. His eyes darted back and forth from Alexander to Cavenaugh. Their eyes were locked on one another in sheer disbelief, oblivious in tandem to the whole of the universe. Kaleb was equally confused.

"Is it you, Alex?" her soft voice whispered; she was pale, her eyes sparkling with tears.

"Yes, it's me," Alexander assured, equally quiet. Kaleb could not identify the tone. "What are you doing here?"

Their tones remained hushed.

"I was beamed aboard with the other survivors. What are _you_ doing here?"

"This is my ship and you know that's not what I meant – "

"How…how do you two know each other?" Kaleb dared to interrupt, a giddy, goofy, grin was on his lips despite the confusion. There was an uneasy pause.

"She's my sister," and "He's my brother," they said in curt unison.

Their heads snapped sharply towards him and away again in one fluid, harmonic motion. Kaleb was so startled by the movement it took a moment for the words to sink in.

"I knew you looked familiar!" Kaleb exulted ; his first reaction to the revelation.

"I should be going," Alexander said quickly. "There's a lot of work to do."

He hesitated before wrapping his arms around her in a deep, warm hug, however briefly, and then bolted. She flustered and made several gasping noises as they watched him go.

"What just happened?" Koday whispered obliviously, "Are they a thing?"

Kaleb elbowed the youth.

"Alexander Lee Erikssen, you come back here!" Cavenaugh shouted after him.

Kaleb chuckled.

"He never told me he had a sister," Kaleb realized, his laughter fading to offense.

Cavenaugh was downcast, then her lids fluttered. Her gaze bore into him, her eyes doleful and her face contorted with emotion. She didn't answer him and there was silence for a several minutes.

Kaleb wondered if he should pursue or stay, feeling strangely torn. She returned attention to her thoroughly perplexed patients, blocking his exit. So, he made small talk with Koday, exchanging first niceties and then details. All the while, the latest development was a white elephant left all to itself to brood as it saw fit.

Once finished, Cavenaugh dismissed her patients and faced away; she was quiet for another moment. Then, slamming her tricorder on the biobed, she chased after Alexander.

Kaleb followed quickly with eager Koday not far behind.

* * *

Alexander fled, navigating quickly through the small crowd of civilian patients congregated outside Sickbay. There was an open-front lift mere meters away that would take him down to the lower deck where he could immerse himself in repair work and avoid the impending conflicts. He was shell-shocked and he shut off his thoughts. There was one stray musing.

_I hate drama…_

"Commander?"

He cringed when he heard Miria's voice; he knew what she wanted and all he wanted was to forget about it. There was shuffling and several people shouted in protest.

"Lieutenant Commander Erikssen!"

Alexander stopped cold in his tracks and plastered a pleasant smile on his face. Spinning about he saw her burst through the crowd.

"Ambassador?" he said. He despised that tone. It was involuntary, uncontrollable. A natural defense mechanism that had formed over many years. It was inappropriate to be rude, abrasive, or openly defiant to anyone, but especially to a superior officer, which she was; it was even worse with personal conflict. His natural inclination was to emotionally disconnect from the situation and the person with cold deference. He became a blank wall of indifference.

"There you are," she said stepping close. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

"Could it wait? The Colonel is waiting for me."

"Alex…"

He closed his eyes and nodded. Miria led them away from eavesdroppers.

"I'm sorry about the way Kaleb acted up there," Alexander said before she could start, "he can be a little abrasive sometimes, but he means well –"

"I don't want to talk about Lieutenant Vance right now, Alex. We'll get to that."

_Oh no…_

His eyes went wide. Susannah, trailed by Kaleb and a young man, were heading towards them. Alexander gulped and his eyes darted, looking for an escape route, as he gruffly tried to guide Miria further away.

"What's wrong with you?" Miria asked, half angry and half concerned; she refused to move any farther.

"Excuse me," Susannah spoke up softly as they approached. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Ma'am. May I speak with Lieutenant Erikssen?"

"It's Lieutenant Commander," Kaleb corrected. Alexander, Susannah, and Miria each shot him a quick glare. It was highly uncomfortable to have these three particular people in such close proximity; he was dumbfounded by the unlikelihood.

"We are in the middle of something, Lieuten…" Miria began in a diplomatic tone, but trailed off. She eyed Susannah, sizing her up and gazing most peculiarly. Susannah froze, her eyes went wide into her trademark deer-in-headlights expression.

Alexander looked quizzically at the two women, regarding them with concern and curiosity. Something was amiss. He thought Susannah's behavior especially odd. Miria returned her attention to Alexander. She paused and frowned. Looking back to Susannah, she acquired a new expression of peculiarity. She looked from Susannah to Alexander, back to Susannah, and back again.

"What the –" Miria exclaimed, her voice stridently high-pitched, but stopped herself and resumed her poise, "I'm sorry. It's just…"

"It's crazy, huh?" Kaleb remarked.

"Alexander, can I have a moment?" Susannah asked in his selfsame deliberate, soft-spoken tone. "Please?"

Alexander locked eyes with Kaleb, pleading for him to intervene; they spoke a thousand words in that instant, but not enough to conquer the impasse. Kaleb shrugged.

_Gahh!_

"Su," Alexander said finally, but with ample compassion and kindness. He was filled with exasperation and distracted by the myriad tasks at hand – things far more pertinent than personal matters. He assumed a position of tact and fortitude as he chose to face the situation as best and as expediently as possible. "this isn't the best time. I see you and Kaleb have already met…um…Allow me to formally introduce you to Ambassador Miria Memlillia, one of my oldest and closest friends. She's the leader of the diplomatic mission we were on before the fleet…um…" he trailed off and regarded her sentimentally, "anyway…I didn't know that you had…"

"Alex?" Miria's one-word question was heavily loaded.

"Miria," he said and exhaled loudly, "Meet Dr. Susannah Cavenaugh, my twin sister."

* * *

Author's note:

Glad my stories being enjoyed. Check out my profile page for a link to the cover art.

IV: 4 is being revised at the moment and should be up tomorrow or the next day. I hope.

Peace!

* * *


	23. IV: Reigns 4

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

**Story Revamp: 07/01/2009 **

**Chapter Update: 07/28/2009  
**

Warning! Proceed no further. This story has undergone a major overhaul. Plot, characters, arrangement, chapters, you name it, have all been changed, added, deleted, altered etc. Unless you're a new reader, reading after July 1st, 2009, I suggest you go back and start with the newly added Prelude and continue on. You may recognize much of the story. A few installments have even only had minor changes, but unless you want to be lost, go back and start over. Besides, its' been like six months since I last posted...reread it. :D

* * *

A/N: there is a bit of language ahead. I had censored it in the past, but, since the story is already rated teen, I left in for effect. CONSTRUCTIVE comments on that aspect are tentatively welcome.

* * *

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

IV: Reigns

Four

Kaleb had rolled his eyes and groaned when he found the Ambassador had cornered Alexander. Her flurry of demanding queries and insinuations had ebbed and she grew silent while scrutinizing the two in showdown. He was surprised when he caught himself ogling the buxom blonde Betazoid's voluptuous form. Memlillia looked at him questioningly and he shrugged. Together, they stared at the two. Alexander and Cavenaugh – the siblings! – were again talking, but whispering this time, heatedly.

Kaleb marveled at how similar they looked and at how he had not noticed before. She was several centimeters shorter and had pale blue eyes while his were a warm brown, but aside from those – along with the other more obvious gender differences – they were strikingly alike: the same pale skin, the same lean frame, the same high cheekbones and narrow face, and the same flaxen hair with only about ten centimeters difference in length. His straight tresses had the slightest curl at the ends at the precise length where her waviness began.

Admittedly, he felt a little awkward, a little strange, for being attracted to Cavenaugh. Whenever he looked at her now, all he could see was Alexander. He was still doing double-takes; they were not identical, but close enough. Enough for the idea of Cavenaugh as a romantic interest to be unpleasant.

"If you're brother and sister," Koday spoke up. He had been conspicuously milling about in boredom. Still sickly, he should have been resting, but Kaleb had not the heart to send him away. "Why do you have different last names?"

He shrunk back when Alexander shot the upstart cadet a look that was indecipherable to most, but one Kaleb easily read as "Who the hell are you?"

"This is Koday," Kaleb intervened protectively, "He's a cadet, one of ours."

"Lieutenant Vance rescued him," Cavenaugh interjected distractedly, "Twice. Your friend is quite the hero, Alexander."

"And _she_ saved his life twice," Kaleb interjected.

Alexander's expression softened. He smiled proudly at Kaleb and Cavenaugh, and then kindly at the cadet; they shook hands and exchanged formalities; the Ambassador followed suit.

"You should be in bed," Cavenaugh told Koday sternly; he shrugged.

"It's her married name," Alexander flatly replied to Koday's query. "One of them."

Cavenaugh looked as though she had been sucker-punched in the gut and her cheeks flushed; Kaleb winced. The air seemed thick, and was tangibly overwrought.

_She's married…_

* * *

"I can't believe you never told me you had a twin," Miria suddenly blurted out at Alexander. She was heated and utterly astonished.

On top of that, Miria recognized this Doctor Susannah Cavenaugh and was suspicious of her. It was a memorable occasion, not many days ago aboard _Deep Space Nine_, when Miria was awarded her current position. Cavenaugh was one of the medics that responded to the medical emergency. Only now, Miria had learned she was not just a medic but a full-fledged Doctor.

For now, Miria decided, she would leave it be and think it on it. At the moment, she was far more concerned with a number of other things including the discovery that Alexander has a twin sister that he never mentioned.

"I know! That's kind of important information," Lieutenant Vance added, he and Miria exchanged perturbed, possessive glances, "You'd think you might have mentioned it once in passing in the last ten years. How do you not tell your academy roommate you have a twin?"

Neither sibling paid them any attention and continued to converse in low tones.

" – and you let us believe you were dead, Alex. How could you do that?"

"Whoa, whoa, what?" Vance interrupted rudely.

Miria was unsure if she heard correctly. Alexander grew silent and avoided eye-contact; he swallowed several times, tracing the deck plating with his foot.

"He let me and our whole family believe he died in action," Doctor Cavenaugh informed them, fighting back tears. "And all the while he's playing captain with his friends."

"Alex!" Miria exclaimed. "Oh! My! Goodness!"

"It was only for the last six months or so," Alexander managed the weak excuse in his defense, "It's complicated. Listen, this is really a private matter, so –"

"Erikssen! What happened to you?"

The ever-tensing tête-à-tête halted abruptly at the interruption. Colonel Skahticus was stomping down the walkway towards them.

"Colonel," Alexander paled and tensed up, "I'm sorry, I got caught up – "

"You're up here chit-chatting, _Commander_, while I'm down there breaking my ass fixing _your_ ship. I've been waitin' twenty minutes for you."

"Colonel, I apologize. Thank you so much for your help. Let's go –"

"Nightingale?" the Colonel interrupted, brushing past Alexander, "What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

"Nightingale?" Miria and the others echoed questioningly.

"How do you know my sister, Colonel?"

"She's _your_ sister?" he repeated with a jeering chortle, "Oh, that's rich."

Miria sensed fear and confusion in Dr. Cavenaugh; she was staring at the Colonel with mouth agape. Everyone waited silently. Miria could feel the anticipation, but it was the suspicion growing that she noticed most.

"Su, what's he talking about?" Alexander pressed.

"How…how do you know that name?" Cavenaugh whispered; her face was ghostly pale. She gasped; the sudden epiphany rattled Miria's empathy. "…Torrence?"

* * *

"You're a quick one, little Nightingale." the Colonel mocked. Alexander saw the man's stony visage waver for a moment as he glanced at him and Kaleb.

"How?" Susannah asked when she finally found her words again.

_What is this?_

"Don't wanna give away the secret to my power," he said facetiously, and then explained, "I changed my face. It isn't that difficult."

"Cosmetic dermal manipulation," she expounded. "That's so deceitful."

"Wait, wait," Kaleb broke in, "Torrence. Why do I know that name?"

"Torrence." Alexander repeated, picking up on the idea "As in _Commander_ Nathan Torrence?"

"Yeah," Kaleb agreed vociferously, his temper flaring. "You son of –"

"Kaleb!"

His friend pounced towards the Colonel; Alexander was barely swift enough to intervene, forcibly restraining Kaleb.

"Do you know what I've been through? You lying piece of…" Kaleb spat, his hand reaching past Alexander, and his index finger jabbed into the Colonel's massively solid chest. "You knew all along we were innocent. Commander R'Vok was a friend of mine! You played us!"

"Oh yeah? Is that so?" the Colonel parried back, brushing away the prodding, "_You _think you know what's going on? You gonna do something? You wanna try something? I dare you. You're the ones who let that murdering bastard get away."

Alexander felt himself squeezed uncomfortably and dangerously between the two stocky men. Absently, he heard the smarmy cadet excitedly shout cajoling remarks. Vulgarities streamed between the two as they swatted around Alexander.

"Stop, both of you," Susannah begged.

"Get him, Kaleb…I mean, Lieutenant, Sir." Koday addled.

"Gentlemen, please," Miria said more forcefully, "Stop this nonsense."

"Stand down!" Alexander shouted. "Kaleb! Colonel! Knock it off!"

The two separated, releasing Alexander from between them. The Colonel backed away and laughed. Kaleb reared up again, charging forward, but Alexander planted his feet and gripped Kaleb's shoulders.

"Kaleb," he growled through barred teeth. "Stand down."

"Alex, you know he –"

"I know, Kaleb. Stand down. You are an officer, behave like one. We're in a big enough mess as it is. Please, don't make this worse."

Kaleb deflated and threw his hands up backing away. Colonel Skahticus was about to make another snide remark, but Alexander eyed him sternly and he conceded. The Sickbay overflow was silent, staring at the group of officers.

"I'm sure we can sort all this out," Miria spoke up. "There's a lot of work to be done. So, let's go where we can all talk more privately and figure out what's going on."

Alexander jerked his head towards the conference dais – the half-chamber he had dubbed the Cage – and Miria nodded in agreement.

[_Are you alright_?]

_Yeah_…_This is embarrassing. We need to get a handle on things, now._

Miria nodded once and then guided Susannah and the Colonel away from the patients and civilians. Alexander stopped the cadet, looking past him as he watched Kaleb stalk off.

"Will you go ask Lieutenant Vance to join us?"

"Yes, sir." He said eagerly and bounded away.

Alexander calmed himself and then joined the others. Miria took the seat at the table's head, and he let her, sitting to her left. Regardless of whether or not Miria outranked him, things were unraveling into chaos in the midst of disaster and he was distracted. At the moment, he did not want any of the responsibility and would defer to her.

"Colonel, Doctor," Miria said in her even tone, "please, have a seat."

Susannah sat across from him and the Colonel at the far end.

"Bridge to the Ambassador," Miria's combadge chirped. Kaleb and Koday joined them at the conference table. Alexander thought it inappropriate for the young man to be present, but he would let Miria address it if she so chose to.

"Go ahead, Crewman," Miria said tapping the badge, ignoring the varying gazes.

"I've detected a distress beacon from a nearby escapepod," he reported, "One occupant. She's in transporter range. Permission to bring her aboard?"

"Granted," she replied. "Beam her to the transporter arch. I will be there to greet her."

"Understood."

"I apologize," she told the gathering, "If you'll excuse me, I'll return in just a moment."

The Colonel scoffed as she rose and left.

The tension was palpable and no one made eye contact with anyone else.

"So…" Koday drawled.

"Shut up, kid," the Colonel spat. "What are you even doing here? Why don't you go play with your dollies while the grown ups talk, huh? Beat it."

He was surprised and clearly a little frightened by the words. At first, Koday glanced to see if anyone else would reinforce the suggestions, but when no one did, a defiant, pretentious smile spread across his lips. He crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling.

"Leave 'em alone," Kaleb retorted hotly.

"What?"

"Picking on a young guy like him? Oh, you're a real big man."

"Cool it," Alexander told them quietly.

The Colonel slumped in his chair, crossed his arms, and rolled his eyes. The action was not unlike the cadet's; Alexander was mildly amused.

Presently, Miria returned with the new passenger to the Cage and began speaking. Alexander did not hear a word, as though his world had been muffled; he stared speechless in pure shock and disbelief.

"I'm gonna have a nervous break down," he whispered to himself.

_A'læ_

* * *

"You?" the thickset male opposite her stood as he spoke.

A'læ knew the voice: her imprisoner, her torturer. She knew him only as Colonel.

"You!"

Sidestepping the courteous Ambassador, A'læ bounded across the space and leaped at him. Her lissome figure sailing gracefully through the air like a deadly arrow. A muscular arm swatted at her, but too slow, and his bulk sprawled to the floor. Her strong, nimble hands were at his throat as she spewed threatening obscenities like venom.

She heard a female gasping in triplet and several others shouting. Her adversary began to guffaw, sputtering between breaths; it fueled her rage. Hands pulled at her; she would not relent. Arms wrapped around her waist and several strong tugs yanked her loose.

A'læ screamed as she lost her grip. The vengeful lament ceased when she lost her breath as she was hauled to her feet and jolted upright. The same arms around her waist were now circling her in a tight squeeze. A'læ struggled to no avail.

When she calmed, her vision cleared and suddenly she saw the face inches from hers.

"Alexander?"

"Yeah." His voice was low and breathy; his scent heady and familiar.

A'læ looked around her and saw several people gawking. She flushed with embarrassment and tried to pull away, but he held firm. He was warm.

"You can let go now," she whispered.

Alexander's big brown eyes peered skeptically at her through the hair that had fallen into his face. There was also bewilderment and disappointment; the gaze made her uncomfortable. She pulled again and he let go.

A male lieutenant was still restraining her torturer. The Ambassador and another woman had retreated to the far side of the table. A young man stood across from her; he gave her a shy, tentative wave. It took a moment for her to remember he was one of the cadets she had ferried.

A'læ sank into a seat at the table and sat quietly, waiting for the attention to fade.

It didn't.

* * *

Miria stood huddled with Alexander. Although out of earshot, she used telepathy anyway.

[_Suggestions_?]

_Break and meet back later. I need some…air. Some space._

[_Of course._] she agreed, [_I'll have your…I'll have Dr. Cavenaugh attend to the sick and injured, the Colonel can continue his repairs and I'll see if there is anyone to help him. What of Lieutenants Vance and A'læ_?]

_I…I dunno.. It's a small ship. Tiny. Separation isn't feasible. There are a lot of repairs…_

"I need to go," Alexander said aloud, interrupting himself and squeezing her arm.

[_21:00_] she told him as he left hastily. She faintly heard his mental ascent. Several of the hodgepodge gathering called out after him, but he turned a deaf ear and disappeared into a hatch she was unaware of.

"Okay, people," Miria said, calling attention from group, and began doling out orders.

* * *

Koday sat on the biobed swinging his feat anxiously like a toddler as he waited for Doc Cavenaugh to finish her exam. Chattering excitedly, he recounted the fight he had just witnessed blow by blow. The doctor offered the occasional "uh, huh." He could not wait for a chance to explore the runabout; he had never been aboard one before. She gave him an injection and then used a dermal regenerator to heal a tiny scratch on the back of his hand.

"Doc, can I go now?"

"And where is it you think you're going?" she asked, a hand on her hip.

"To have a look around," he informed her matter-o-fact-ly.

"I don't think so," she refuted. "You need to take it easy and you need to get some sleep. You're heart stopped today, Koday. That is a very traumatic thing."

"Yeah, but you fixed me right up. You're really good! I'm fine," he insisted with gusto.

"I'll keep an eye on him."

Koday crowed when he saw Kaleb leaning against the entry. He was ecstatic when he heard the tale of how the Lieutenant had rescued him again; he was also determined to make it up to the man. He jumped up to quickly escape from Sickbay. He felt lightheaded suddenly and almost passed out, clutching tightly to the biobed.

"He needs to be in bed."

"I'll make sure of it," Kaleb assured her, "I was just going to take him to find some clean clothes to wear and a hot meal. Wouldn't hurt to have a quick tour on the way, would it? It's a small ship."

"I suppose not."

"Yes." Koday exulted.

"You could come?" Kaleb told Doc Cavenaugh.

"Uh…Thanks. But I've got a _lot_ of work to do."

"Okay," Kaleb said, he then gripped Koday's shoulder affectionately and told him, "while your still under the good Doctor's care, you'll have to sleep in triage. Why don't you go pick out a bed? I'll meet you in a second."

Koday nodded enthusiastically and was out the door. A thought struck Koday and he paused. Tiptoeing back to the Sickbay, he quietly peaked around the doorframe. Kaleb and Doc Cavenaugh were leaned against the biobed talking quietly. He could only catch a few words here and there, but he guessed it had something to do with Commander Erikssen being her brother or how she knew that jerk of a Colonel.

"…was outta line. I didn't mean to."

"No! No!" Doc Cavenaugh refuted quickly. "It's fine, really."

"But, you're married…"

"Widowed, actually," Cavenaugh said slowly, looking away. "And divorced before that."

"Oh! So you're not…" Kaleb's voice dropped lower than Koday could hear despite how intensely he strained. Koday's eyes went wide when he saw Kaleb lean in to kiss her.

_Alright, sir!_

The cadet waited in impatient suspense as their heads huddled closer. Doc Cavenaugh tilted her face and moved closer to him. Both's eyes were half-closed – Koday silently rooted for Kaleb to seal the deal – their lips were millimeters apart.

A chortle abruptly escaped from Doc Cavenaugh; Kaleb looked stupefied.

"I'm sorry," she said meekly, biting her lip. Another chuckle slipped out and soon peals of laughter rang from the sickbay.

"I should go," Kaleb said finally, his pride obviously wounded.

"I'm really sorry," Doc Cavenaugh said again, stifling laughter and fanning herself. "It's just ever since you called me Su…"

"You do look like you're brother," Kaleb pointed out, then admitted, "it's weird."

"It is weird."

Kaleb bowed out gracefully and quickly excused himself.

"Better luck next time, sir," Koday said as the Lieutenant exited, barely suppressing a grin. He was first startled and then glared at Koday.

"Come on," Kaleb told him, grabbing him by the arm and tugging him along.

* * *

"How ya feeling, pal?"

The Colonel squatted at the bedside of Sergeant Treimer, clapping his leg with brutish affection. His wingman jolted up and vomited colorful language, some of the words even the Colonel did not use. He tenderly clutched his knee and then his side.

"Shit, bossman," Treimer complained, "you punishing me for getting shot to hell?" He cursed again several times.

"Easy. S'wrong?"

"Leg's still busted, ribs are bruised, and I gotta piss like hell, but it hurts too _damn_ much to walk. Half these invalids are sleeping like babes." He raised his voice. "What's a soldier gotta do to get some meds?!"

"You're an ass. But, why the hell haven't you been treated?"

"Damned if I know. Only seen one Doctor. Wouldn't mine seeing more, if ya know what I mean, boss." Treimer raised his eyes suggestively and chuckled. A spasm of pain rocked him.

"_Not _her. Trust me. Sit tight, buddy; I can get you bumped to the top of her to do list."

"Alright," he crowed crassly, insinuating a double-entendre. Then, he jerked his heads sharply, "Whoa, whoa. Who is _she_?"

The Colonel glanced over his shoulder and groaned. Lieutenant A'læ had passed by, not too far away, and was taking the lift to the lower level. Treimer craned to see her. The Colonel only shook his head and laughed. Beautiful or not, he knew she was not worth the effort.

_Not that either us would have a chance._

How he had ended up stranded on the same ship with her, Nightingale, and his mortal enemy's bedmate boggled his mind. If he believed in karma, he might have been worried, or regretful. With a look of disgust, he suspiciously watched as the haughty and frigid A'læ disappeared from their view.

"_Not_ her either. Careful where you stick that thing, it might fall off."

With a less hardy pat to his shoulder, the Colonel jumped up and headed for the Sickbay; He knew he could easily get Nightingale to sway at his every whim and that pleased him. Kaleb Vance and his pet cadet brushed quickly by as the Colonel entered the small compartment. Nightingale's look of utter despair and desperate desire to flee brought him guilty satisfaction.

* * *

Alexander had misplaced his uniform jacket and mentally kicked himself for it. Given the situation, it was understandable; nonetheless, he hated making excuses of any kind. He felt conspicuous in just his command-red tunic – although, thankfully, his communicator had somehow found its way on to it, so some semblance of professionalism remained – as he walked to the Cage. He felt slight in the form-fitting garment, having not regularly eaten in countless days. Thumbing his chin, he frowned at the stubble.

Miria awaited him, a mountain of padds before her, but no one else had arrived. Though not disheveled, she wore the day clearly. Curls fought for liberation and lines told of weary and worry. Not feeling like sitting, Alexander leaned against a support truss in the forward entry.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft and a bit hoarse.

"Alex," she said with surprise; she spun her seat about.

"Where is everyone?"

"They shouldn't be here for another fifteen," Miria told him.

"You said – " he began, but she stopped him.

"I told them differently. I wanted to talk with you first."

"I don't," he declined and paused, "I don't wanna…talk about…_all_ of that. We…We need to focus on what is…relevant. _Pertinent..._Ambassador."

"What about what happened on the bridge," Miria replied heatedly, "or in the hold? Is that pertinent enough for you, _Lieutenant _Commander?"

"You're the one who wasn't were she was supposed to be."

"And you were?" she shot back. "While you were off fraternizing with your pal."

"Fraternizing?! I asked _you_…_You_ said, "Alexander began to argue, but then deflated. He had not yet truly raised his voice, but then began speaking very softly and slowly. "It's not my place. You…outrank me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, Ambass-_Commander."_

"Don't you dare play high and mighty with me," Miria continued, "And don't you dare push me away with your indifference. I don't have the time to deal with that and I won't put up with it. We need each other right now."

Alexander exhaled. He rubbed his eyes and worked his jaw.

"I'm sorry, Miria. You're right…"

"Listen, Alex. We both…_I_…made a mistake – " she conceded.

"We both did," he interjected quickly and calmly.

"That doesn't excuse anyone else's behavior," Miria continued, "We have no idea what's going on out there right now. Or what kind of danger we're really in. If we break down, we won't survive."

"I agree," he said simply. He ground his teeth and then added, "I'm sorry for the way things played out. All of it. And…I'm sorry I never mentioned I have a twin, but can we please leave my personal life out this until we're…I don't know…safe and sound?"

"Fair enough," she said smiling.

Alexander smiled back; no teeth joined in, but it was a start. He sat and she began going over status reports with him; they quickly returned to the usual rapport. The repair work was at a near standstill and Sickbay was already dangerously undersupplied, but Miria had done remarkable work with corralling the new passengers and seeing that they were properly taken care of. He remembered how well they worked together and was pleased at how much was accomplished, feeling like his head was on straight again.

Alexander was lost in thought, pacing, reading over several padds at once, attempting to assimilate and prioritize every last bite of data; he did not notice the table fill until Kaleb approached and handed him his jacket and a cup of coffee.

"Thought you might need these," he offered with a smirk. Then whispered, "Cream _and_ sugar, but still very strong."

Alexander accepted gratefully. Tugging his arms into the sleeves while balancing the mug, he took his seat to Miria's right with Kaleb to his. A'læ was across from him – he raised his eyebrows in an awkward hello that she returned – next to her was his sister – they half smiled – and opposite Miria was the cantankerous Colonel – he nodded to Alexander with machismo.

"I know it's late," Miria began the meeting, "I know there is a lot to be done, but we should get a few things straightened out."

"So how does everybody know each other?" Kaleb wondered aloud.

"We'll get to that, Lieutenant," Miria told him. "It seems there are a lot of suspicions and accusations floating around as well. I'd like to clear those up too. Besides the six of us, on board we have one ensign, four crewman, another Marine – a Sergeant – one Starfleet Academy Cadet, and twelve _civilian _passengers, five of which are _children_ and four of which are critically unwell. That's twenty-five people."

"As far as we know," Alexander said, picking up the line of thought, "we're all that's left of the fleet. We left _DS9_ with six ships and over 2000 officers, enlisted crewman, and family members. Now were down to a single runabout with a mismatched crew of thirteen, and twelve passengers."

"There could still be people out there," Susannah pointed out emphatically, "there are a lot of shuttles and escapepods. And are we sure there is _no one_ left on those starships?"

"Search and rescue is our first priority," Miria assured her.

"You mean after Survival, of course," Kaleb added, "And keeping this ship in one piece," saying what Alexander, and no doubt the Colonel and A'læ, was thinking.

"Yes, of course, Lieutenant," Miria amended. "But first we –"

"Has there been no word from the Admiral or one of the other Captains?" A'læ inquired.

"No sign and no word," Alexander said quietly. "But I won't believe he, or any of them, is dead until I see a body with my own eyes."

"If there are any," the Colonel spoke up for the first time, "corpses, that is."

That had everyone thinking. Miria was about to take the floor again, but was too slow.

"Biological warfare seems most likely," A'læ pointed out, "It's gruesome, but very clean and efficient. It's fair to assume not every species would have laws against it as we do."

"Certain types of radiation could easily dissolve organic tissue without harming the technology and leave little or no residue," Susannah noted with a grimace.

"Colonel, you got a good look during your fly-by," Alexander said. He was silently thankful a fragile cooperation was forming despite the tension that loomed overhead. "You say the fleet's relatively intact?"

"The attack was brutal…if they wanted to wipe us all out they could have. They did. But what I mean to say, is that those starships are in one piece and it isn't because of a lack of firepower to smudge us. The fleet's in worse shape than what you left it, but not by much."

"We need to get over there and see for ourselves," Kaleb stated. "We're in the dark."

"Yes," A'læ agreed, "there is bound to be more than enough sensor data, com recordings, etc to give us some idea of what happened."

"We will, in due time," Miria replied, reasserting herself, "but we've moved off subject."

"What could be more important – " Kaleb demanded.

"Staying alive," she cut him off, "as you said yourself. Rescuing survivors. Repairing this ship. Making peace enough that we don't kill each other."

"Why not take refuge aboard the _Companion_, or one of the other ships?" Susannah asked.

"That's a terrible idea," the Colonel scoffed.

"Why?"

"Go ahead, Nightingale. Be my guest," he said rudely. "If you wanna end up dead."

Susannah gasped in offense.

"Actually, Colonel," Miria interrupted their side banter, "it was my intent to relocate very shortly once we round up the survivors."

"What?" and "You're kidding?" were A'læ and Kaleb's simultaneous responses.

"Uh, Miria," Alexander leaned over and whispered, "that's not…a very good idea."

"Oh, well since it's your idea, I feel much better about it," the Colonel mocked.

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"We don't know what happened over there, as we've said," Alexander said quickly and delicately before the Colonel could react. "We don't know what killed the crews or if they're dead at all. The ships are all dead in the water; they can't sustain us, as far as we know. We have no idea if there is breathable atmosphere or supplies. Something could be occluding our sensors and hiding lifesigns of not only our people but the enemy as well."

"And how do you expect us to defend ourselves or get away if those warships comeback for seconds?" the Colonel spat. "Don't plan on me covering your ass."

"There could be radiation leaks and any number of hazards," A'læ continued hotly. "The antimatter tanks could lose containment at any moment,

"Alright, I get the idea," Miria stopped them. Her cheeks were red with embarrassment. "Let's put all of that aside for a moment, shall we? We need to discuss the problem between this group. We need to lay everything on the table."

Miria then delved into a lengthy recount and Alexander added in where needed, especially with the technical details of the incident in the wormhole. Stepping in, he was then back-tracking with his and Kaleb's altercation in _Deep Space Nine_'s Brig. The Colonel – a.k.a. Commander Nathan Torrence – had no comment about their brief encounter much to their joint consternation. Then, Kaleb took over and backed up even further and shared his story with Susannah soon adding input. The meeting toiled ever later into the night.

"Well, Doctor," Miria said, now composed, "why don't you start from the beginning? And you can explain to us your involvement with the Colonel and your mysterious code name."

"That's classified," the Colonel said bluntly.

Alexander looked sternly and questioningly at his sister, but she would not meet his gaze and intently focused on her lap. He was tempted to press her, but already knew she would resist with the Colonel present.

"Classified?" Miria laughed aloud. "I promise my clearance is higher than yours could ever be. Now, please Colonel, with all due respect, out with it."

He chortled and said nothing.

"Dr. Cavenaugh?" Miria asked again.

"I…I can't. I've told you everything I can."

"Regardless of Commander Erikssen's or Lieutenant Vance's ability to vouch for your character, Doctor," she said evenly, "you're both making it very difficult to trust you."

Miria exhaled loudly when neither of them replied.

"Lieutenant," Miria continued, wearily turning to A'læ, "would _you _like to enlighten us as to why you attacked the Colonel. You'd be in the Brig under normal circumstances, so I hope you have a good explanation."

"Yes," the Colonel chirped up derisively, "and then maybe you could tell the good Ambassador what you were doing aboard the _Barcelona_ and how you magically ended up there when you were assigned to the _Gallant_, which if I'm not mistaken was _incinerated_."

Alexander could not conceal a look of shock and curiosity. A'læ cursed at the Colonel in a language that he did not recognize, but apparently Miria did because she sternly scolded her.

"I'm sure they will be enthralled to hear about your unethical treatment of prisoners: of how you tied me down and interrogated me. And of how you refused to allow me medical treatment while I was suffering severe radiation poisoning," she shot back.

"What?" Alexander said in unison with Susannah.

"You've gotta stop doing that," Kaleb told them, "It's creepy."

"And then you berated me with questions I wasn't lucid enough to answer. You remember that? Or how you locked me away for hours without food or water or a lavatory and refused to let me speak with my superiors, or anyone. He's the one you shouldn't trust."

"Please start from the beginning, Lieutenant," Miria said; she eyed the Colonel with displeasure, "And the more forthcoming you are, the more clemency you'll see."

As she relayed the information, Alexander could tell there were things being omitted or slanted. There was nothing he could say or do, knowing she would deny it. They were all especially surprised to hear of D'Landrii's strange jaunt into the expanse just before the attack.

"Lieutenant," Miria said finally. She seemed nervous as her eyes darted from A'læ to the rest of the group. It was clear she wanted to address the situation, but not in front of everyone. "I can in no way justify or excuse Colonel Skahticus's actions except to say he seems to believe he's been granted impunity by some higher power. For all I know, he may have been. Nor can I excuse your actions to him. For now, we're going to –"

"Shut up." The Colonel erupted, jumping to his feet. The table fell silent in astonishment.

"Excuse me," she retorted, losing her diplomatic tone.

"Just shut up. You don't know what you're talking about. You have no idea."

"Colonel," Alexander said quietly, through clenched teeth, begging him to desist.

"That's enough," Miria told the Colonel forcefully.

"I don't take orders from you, _Commander. _You act as if you earned that rank," he sneered. "I'm not one of your Starfleet underlings. The only person in the fleet I answer to is Admiral Montgomery. And he's dead."

"You don't know that," Kaleb snapped. "We don't know anything."

"You need to sit down," A'læ advised disdainfully, several derogatory expletives followed. Susannah made disapproving comments as well.

"You really think I wanna listen to anything _you_ have to say?" he continued on his rampage ignoring the others. "That I respect you cause you're the Admiral's pet? As far as I'm concerned, you are the enemy."

"Colonel," Alexander reprimanded.

"No, she was gonna marry that son of a bitch."

Susannah gasped and covered her mouth in embarrassment. There were murmurs of confusion. Alexander and the Colonel were locked in an age-old staring contest; he was livid that this had been brought up.

"Alex, what's he talking about?" It was Kaleb. A'læ and Susannah began to press him as well. Alexander looked from one to the next and then his eyes met Miria's. The brilliant black, pupil-less orbs, pleaded with him, but she gave no direction. It was all up to his discretion.

"Tell them."

"It's nobody's business."

"The hell it isn't. She's gonna stand here and act like she's in charge–"

"DaKen," Miria shouted. They were startled by her outburst. "I was engaged to marry DaKen: the man presumably responsible for all of this. The man who attacked Alex and Lieutenant Vance and killed Commander R'Vok. The man who kidnapped and tortured and might have killed Lieutenant Vance and Cadet Koday. The man who took hostage a whole room full of injured defenseless people and…if it hadn't been for the Colonel…The man who supposedly lead the saboteurs in the attack that destroyed an entire starship, killed countless venerated officers, and stranded us all here. The man who –"

Her voice caught; tears streamed down her face. Alexander's heart went out to her, but he could not find the words. Malicious and spiteful remarks from the Colonel continued to flow and led to a heated shouting match involving everyone. Kaleb had several choice things to say before Alexander was able to bridle him. Alexander was forced to play diplomatic negotiator at this turn while Miria stood silently. He feared the gravity of it had chosen this moment to hit her.

"You think I don't know?!" She screamed at him. "That I don't get it? That I don't hate myself for it? I have watched helplessly as these events unfolded all spearheaded by the man I loved, that I still love. My _imzadi_ turned out to be a monster, a killer. _I_ have to carry that.

"As he used me, betrayed and lied to me, swindled and conned me, I believed him. I was nothing more than a means to an end. He deceived _me_. Not you. _I_ have to live with it. Not you. So don't you dare judge me. Hate me. I don't care. But don't you dare let your obsession with him and your revulsion of me compromise our survival because of your own personal vendetta."

Spent, Miria turned away and rushed from the room.

Alexander mournfully watched her, but chose to let her go and allow her to grieve in peace. Livid, he gripped the back of his chair and glared at the blank tabletop display.

_What a mess…_

Looking up after some minutes, Alexander glowered at the Colonel and just shook his head. He was blank. Alexander noisily scoffed. Turning his attention to a pile of padds left behind by Miria, he sifted through them and then passed out several to everyone but the Colonel.

"Rosters," he said shortly, tossing one padd to the man, "Put together by the Ambassador. Ya think you can cover her rotation on the Bridge?"

A single nod was the response.

"Supply inventories," Alexander informed flatly, tossing padds one after another, "Rations, spare parts, medical. Complied by the Ambassador. Bunking assignments. Damage reports. Possible locations of survivors. Categorized lists of the crew's skill sets. All her work."

Alexander was silent as he watched the brute who had demoralized his friend.

"There's a lot to be done," he then said to them all. "Su, you're gonna have to find someone to help you. You've been away from your patients long enough; you better get over there. A'læ, Colonel, the Engineering level is a wreck: you're both needed down there. I hope you two can work together. Says here you have the Bridge, Kaleb. Let's try to keep our outbursts to say…a bare minimum? Dismissed."

* * *

A/N: Sorry I didn't post sooner. I forgot that I hadn't.

Thanks to all who have commented and reviewed. It is much appreciated and very welcome. Please remember I can't please or accommodate everyone. Chapters are bound to be too long for some's taste and too short for other's. Content too simple or too complex. Too much character building or too much action. I take all comments into consideration, but in the end, I do what I think and feel is best. You can ask for certain types of content all you want, but unfortunately there are no guarantees.

A big shout out to Big Blue Zoid for the kudos and critiques. And as always, to Damiar, my beta reader, who offers the best advice EVER.

Peace,

Jgold7

PS See the link on my profile page to check out the cover art for this fic.


	24. IV: Reigns 5

Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The original characters are. Any likeness to persons portrayed here is purely Intentional.

**Story Revamp: 07/01/2009 **

**Chapter Update: 07/31/2009  
**

Warning! Proceed no further. This story has undergone a major overhaul. Plot, characters, arrangement, chapters, you name it, have all been changed, added, deleted, altered etc. Unless you're a new reader, reading after July 1st, 2009, I suggest you go back and start with the newly added Prelude and continue on. You may recognize much of the story. A few installments have even only had minor changes, but unless you want to be lost, go back and start over. Besides, its' been like six months since I last posted...reread it. :D

* * *

_**EXCURSION GAMMA ~ **volume one_**  
**

IV: Reigns

FIVE

_Ambassadors Official Log, Supplemental_

_Day 7 in the Gamma Quadrant. _

_We've returned to shelter of the asteroid cluster where we were reunited with Colonel Skahticus to complete the most necessary of repairs on the runabout. Lt. Commander Erikssen tells me it shouldn't take long to replace the irreparable parts of the badly damage engines now that we have the necessary supplies._

_It's been three days since the meltdown between the six senior officers aboard the _Solara_ and I've let Commander Erikssen take the lead, sharing the load where I can. It's an embarrassing mark on all our records, but given the situation, we have no choice but to make due. Barely functional as team, we've managed to get the work done so far, but the situation has remained tense for all on board. _

_The civilian passengers are restless and continue to ask questions that don't have answers. Out count is up to 47, but we've lost eleven and there are more Dr. Cavenaugh tells me won't last the week._

_Quarters are cramped and rations are limited; the _Solara _cannot sustain us indefinitely. Erikssen has already expressed signs of over taxation. To make matters worse, the majority of those we've rescued from adrift shuttles and escapepods have been civilians. Unable to contribute, their idleness has led to several altercations._

_It's strange that, since Lt. A'læ, we haven't rescued anymore officers. Twice we came across shuttlecraft with the remains of several lieutenants and ensigns. The cause of death is still unknown, but Cavenaugh promises an autopsy report once she gets the triage situation under control. _

_It's been more than two days without running into scouting patrols. I'd like to believe they've gone for good, but the others are completely resistant of moving freely throughout the clearing._

_We've rounded up everyone we could find scattered around this asteroid field, but A'læ insists the sensors aboard one of the starships will definitely reveal more survivors. I for one hope she's right. _

_No one has brought any new information about what happened or of the whereabouts of Admiral Montgomery or the other brass. I refuse to accept that he…and the others…are just gone. There…hasn't been any sign of the…_saboteurs_ either._

_Our efforts are currently focused on the remains of the fleet itself. Scans still show no life signs, but we haven't given up. I wanted to focus our efforts on the _Companion_, but as it's such a large area to search_, _the others were disinclined. We couldn't get a transporter lock at any rate, otherwise we would have scoured the ships days ago looking for survivors and clues._

_We gained access to_ Vanguard's _shuttle bay and collected precious supplies, but the surrounding sections were collapsed and the teams couldn't go very far. Erikssen had the shuttles we found completely stripped down for parts. With Solara on the mend, he thinks it's less risky now to remain in the open._

_Tomorrow, we make our move on the _Companion.

* * *

Koday lay on his pallet. With so many people on the little ship, he had been relegated to bunking with the children in the starboard hold. Tugging the scratchy standard issue sheets over his head, he willed himself to sleep. He could not.

This was anything but what he had imagined life would be like on starship. Not that it was much of one. Two decks, barely. The Bridge was a joke, not that he was allowed anywhere near it. No holodecks, no gym, no shuttlebay, no phaser range, just the bare minimum and not even that, really.

Once he had begged for clearance from Doc Cavenaugh, which she finally consented to, he was released from her medical care and allowed to assist with the repair work. He was under strict orders, under pain of being tied to a bed if broken, to take it easy. Thus, Koday spent the last few day following around Kaleb – and sometimes the hot Lieutenant with the pointy ears –helping where he could. Twice he had had chest pains, but a quick breather had him moving again. He was sure it was nothing.

He was pretty proud when he had impressed them with his skill despite his lack of training. Still, they kept his access limited and checked all his work, which was maddeningly frustrating. Just because he was first year cadet, they did not trust his abilities. They just would not listen when he said he had been doing this sort of thing his whole life.

The days were long and the rations were less than tasty or filling. The replicators were working but Commander Erikssen insisted they conserve the energy. There were only two lavatories on board – four counting the one in the Ambassador's quarters and the one in the Commander's, but he wasn't allowed to use those – which made even urinating annoyingly inconvenient. He had stopped trying to get a turn in the sonic shower.

When he finally could break for sleep, the children, corralled all day long by a very old woman they called Matron, would pounce on him and beg him to play. While he did enjoy them, he was often so tired it was like torture, but they would never allow him rest until they were sufficiently romped. Now that the little ones were all down for the night and he was free to doze, sleep wouldn't come. He tossed and turned futilely.

Sitting up, he let out a low growl and heard Matron shush him. Koday rummaged in his pack and fished out a canteen. He guzzled the water down his parched throat. Scooting back, he leaned against the bulkhead and gazed through the darkness of the oblong compartment.

Teams would be heading to Companion in just a few hours and, stir-crazy, Koday fervently hoped he would be allowed to join them. He would do anything to get off the _Solara_. He shoved the canteen back in its place and then pulled out his chronometer.

"Ah man," he groaned.

"SHHH!"

Flopping back onto the pallet, Koday buried his head and pleaded for sleep.

* * *

The short ranger sensors were working at thirty-five percent efficiency. As for the long range, they were completely useless. A'læ repeatedly tapped at a console, telling the computer to increase resolution. She had realigned the optronic arrays and boosted the gain by rerouting power through several backup relays. Still, nothing would work. The data remained muddled.

Glancing from padds to console, she simultaneously was charting a report and reading up on the specifications of _Solara_'s and _Companion's _distinctive warpdrives. It was no coincidence, A'læ knew, that the tetryons the propulsion system was based on were the precise particle needed to create a tear in subspace within the unique environment of the wormhole.

It was infuriating to be marooned at the will of someone else and their foolhardy, blind ambitions. She thought of Mr. and Mrs. Kim and of their son, Harry, whom she had never met. It was ironic how similar their predicaments now were and how the rescuers themselves had become lost.

_Maybe not._

They weren't far from the Dominion's aperture of the Bajoran Wormhole. If it was still intact, home was not far. They might yet continue on their journey, though A'læ doubted it thoroughly. It was foolish now to think they could achieve any sort of outlandish act of heroics.

She was sure Starfleet was aware something had gone awry. Either by word from one of the ships that had been separated from the fleet or by hearing nothing at all. They would make every effort to investigate and make contact. There was little they could do, but it was a mildly pleasant idea, perhaps even comforting.

A'læ thought of Captain D'Landrii and she wondered why she had been allowed to survive. It gnawed at her. Perhaps she had been knocked unconscious and pushed into an escapepod by a crewmate. They had searched thoroughly and found no sign of the yacht, not even debris. She was more suspicious and anxious than she was worried or concerned.

Stumbling upon this miserable little scuttle turned out to be less than fortunate. She walked right into an emotional firestorm unawares, complete with the insolent oaf that so terribly mistreated her. After the fact, she felt guilty of and slightly astonished by her reaction. In hindsight, it was bad judgment, but, in any case, she felt he deserved it.

Her most recent surprise, possibly the most astounding of all, was Alexander. Totally unaware of his presence on this mission, it was a little unsettling for him to be around. Although glad to see him – unexpectedly so – and glad he seemed to be doing well again, it was very strange to her that he would be involved given his recent circumstances. A'læ considered she may gather the courage to ask him about it in the days to come. They had not exchanged more than a few sentences since she had come aboard and she wished it did not bother her.

"Unable to comply. Insufficient Clearance."

A'læ swore and slammed her hand down on the console. It sparked in protest.

"Is everything okay, Lieutenant?" the question was one of genuine concern and asked sweetly. Rising, A'læ found Ambassador Memlillia in the doorway.

"Uh, yes…ma'am. Everything's fine. It's nothing, only a little trouble with the sensors," she replied. Caught off guard, she was fidgeting. "Have you been standing there long?"

"No, no," Memlillia assured her, "I just walked in."

"Is my shift over already?" A'læ asked.

"Yes, in a few minutes it is."

"Oh, well there is nothing on sensors," A'læ replied, briefing her on their status, "hasn't been for the past two days. We still have two people on a spacewalk finishing up repairs on the port nacelle. That should be about it."

"Alright, thank you Lieutenant," Memlillia said, "I can take it from here."

"Okay. Thank you…ma'am." A'læ gathered her padds hastily, prepared to move quickly out her way. She felt a bit awkward around the woman; she felt judged and she didn't like that. Given the Ambassador's outburst, A'læ thought Memlillia had no place to be judging her. Betazoid's were always prone to emotional overreaction in her experience; A'læ found it distasteful. It was a racial prejudice, she supposed, but it was one she considered to be based in fact not on generalized assumption. A'læ reached the door and stop. Inhaling, she willed herself to continue, but instead turned around and said, "Ambassador?"

"Yes," she was so sweet and kind and polite it made A'læ want to vomit. "Was there something else?"

"I..uh.."

_What are you doing? _A'læ reprimanded herself. She did so again when she remembered that Memlillia was Betazoid and fully aware of A'læ's internal conflict.

Memlillia smiled pleasantly and patiently waited.

"I wanted to apologize," A'læ was able to get the words out with minor difficulty. "For my behavior when I first arrived. It was…unacceptable. And inappropriate."

"Lieutenant," Memlillia gestured that she should sit, but A'læ declined. "I've seen officers stripped of rank and locked away for weeks for less. Under the circumstances, I might have done the same. I…I've wanted to do the same. _I _know the Colonel can be infuriating. Next time…just…just don't let it happen again. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," A'læ replied. It was respectful, but half-hearted. She then added a more sincere, "Thank you."

Both cocking their heads, signaling the conversation had ended, A'læ all but bolted for the exit and silently wondered what eccentric, cuddly, alien-entity had possessed her.

_Apologizing? Seriously?_

* * *

Sipping his third cup of coffee, Kaleb cringed at the bitter taste. Alexander had restricted replicator use to necessity only. The Ambassador had charged two of the civilians with the distribution of rations. One of their duties was to prepare meals from stored foodstuffs to help further cutback on supply usage in a makeshift mess set up in one of the passenger holds. Brewing coffee round the clock was another.

Kaleb frowned at his cup as he swirled the dark liquid and wondered if the woman responsible for the atrocity had ever made the beverage before or if she even had taste buds. Still, the infusion of caffeine kept him going. Also, he knew, stopping was not an option, because then the withdrawal headaches would begin. He absently mused that other races probably viewed them as drug users when learning of such addictive and obsessive habits. Humans were often looked down on for their many vices.

Kaleb dismissed the idea and continued his search, making his second sweep of the lower level. He knew Alexander was down there somewhere. The computer would be of no help, nor would the com, as Kaleb found Alexander had left his combadge in his quarters. Walking into the engine room, he looked about, peering here and there.

"Has anybody seen Commander Erikssen?" He called out. It was grumpier than intended, but he was a little grouchy. It was early and he had not slept well. The two crewman and the civilian woman present shrugged without answering.

Kaleb marched towards the exit, his mood growing fouler, when he spied a Jeffries tube hatch he had not noticed before. He looked at it a moment and scoffed aloud, before stomping over to it. Gruffly, he swung open the door and peered inside.

"Alex?!" he yelled into the crawlspace. His voice echoed back mockingly. There was no response, but his gut told him what he didn't want to hear.

"Crewman," Kaleb beckoned. He arrived quickly and Kaleb shoved the coffee mug into the crewman's hand with a, "here."

Head first, he crawled in and edged forward on all fours. His pace was slow and with every movement his irritableness grew. Some time later, the path opened to a wider space and to his left was open to the inter-workings of the ship. Sitting on his haunches, he leaned against the railing and craned his neck into the gap. About two meters down and three meters to aft, Alexander lay on his stomach with a hyperspanner in one hand and a plasma-torch in the other.

"There you are!" Kaleb called out to him.

The violet vector of plasma vanished as he shut off the torch. Rolling over, he raised his mask. "Hey."

"How did you get down there?"

He shrugged and offered a sideways smile.

"Only you could find a place lower than the lowest deck of a ship to hide."

"It is _my_ ship. And I'm not hiding," Alexander insisted, "I'm working."

"Have you talked to your sister?"

"No."

"Have you talked to A'læ?

"No."

"Have you talked to the Colonel or the Ambassador?"

"Of course."

"About something other than repairs and rescue missions?"

"No."

Kaleb reached into his pocket and retrieved the Starfleet-insignia shaped communications device and, with an overhand flick of the wrist, tossed it to him. "You're hiding."

Swiftly dropping the hyper-spanner and pinning it to his side with his elbow, he snatched the object from the air with his left hand and smiled with surprise. Alexander always joked that he was physically handicapped when it came to left-handed tasks. He looked at the combadge and then frowned at Kaleb. "Shut up."

He began gathering his things and then disappeared from Kaleb's view.

"Alex?"

A moment later his head suddenly peaked over the railing a few meters away. Shoving his equipment into the Jeffries tube, he deftly climbed over the railing. "What' s up?"

"It's time to prep for the search and rescue. The Ambassador wants to know, and I quote, 'Are engines done yet?'"

"Yeah," he said with a grin, "I think so."

Alexander was rarely out of uniform, except when off duty, and even then it was not uncommon to see him in it. He was of the very old-school philosophy "keep your shirt tucked in;" the uniform was always all on, or all off. There was no off duty now, as far as Alexander was concerned. His current appearance surprised Kaleb.

While they had all been run ragged over the last week, and looked it, it was showing on Alexander more than expected. He wore only his uniform trousers, boots, and under-tank. They were stained and ripped in several places. His golden hair, without-fail always impeccable, was dingy and a bit wild – his sweat soaked bangs were smeared aside or pushed back, the rest fanned out haphazardly with bits of this or that stuck in it – and could use a wash, or a brush, or something. Grease smeared his arms and face, and he clearly had not shaven in quite a while. Dark circles and deep worry lines marred his countenance. He looked thin, more so than usual.

"I don't get to say this…ever," Kaleb began, preparing him, "but you look terrible."

His eyes smiled and he looked at Kaleb dubiously.

"When's the last time you slept?" Kaleb pressed.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

Kaleb reached over and drug his knuckles down Alexander's jaw line over the thick stubble, "I have never seen you so scruffy."

Laughing, Alexander pushed Kaleb's hand away and then rubbed his cheek and chin in examination. "We're all a little disheveled. So what? Maybe I'm going for that rugged look."

"Right. That'll happen. When you sleep, you shower. When you shower, you shave. As a rule. It's your rule. Newton's fourth law. So: when's the last time you slept?"

"I…uh…I got a nice four hour nap in, late this morning," Alexander answered after deep consideration.

"It is morning."

"Really? Already? Huh. I guess it was yesterday morning."

"No. Cause unless you slept on the floor…which I'm gonna say didn't happen…I used your bed yesterday morning for almost five hours."

"So it was the day before," he replied, shrugging it off.

"You need to sleep, Alexander," Kaleb said candidly and more seriously. "We have a big day ahead of us. Get some rest."

Alexander's shoulder's slumped and he rolled his eyes.

"That's an order," Kaleb said facetiously.

"You can't give me orders."

"Yes I can."

"Really?"

"It's in the best friend clause," Kaleb replied with deadpan, "Starfleet Regulation Article 371, Subsection B."

"There is no subsection B."

"There most certainly is. In the event a superior officer's judgment is impaired due to…_health_ negligence…_and_…general stupidity…he may be relieved of duty…_or_ command. Said judgment…can be made by…the _appropriate_ party that is…familiarly acquainted…with said officer."

"General stupidity, huh?" Alexander queried dryly.

"Mm."

"That's was good. I was impressed," continuing their flat-toned banter, "You usually leave the dry wit to me. You kept a straight face the whole time."

"Thanks. I tried."

"You done?"

They broke in to laughter.

"I could get the Ambassador to order you."

"Good luck with that."

"I think I'm on better terms with your sister than you are. She's acting chief medical officer. I bet _she_ would order you."

"Try it."

"Don't tempt me, Alex."

"Alright, I'll take a nap. Geez, mom."

Kaleb laughed aloud.

Alexander slumped to the ground and collapsed against the railing, his head lolling to the side. The action startled Kaleb, and, for a moment he thought something was wrong.

"Oh, you're gonna take a nap now?"

His eyes snapped open and he smiled a playfully innocent grin.

Kaleb's combadge chirped.

"Memlillia to Vance," came the Ambassador's voice, intruding on their reprieve.

Kaleb moaned melodramatically and rolled his eyes. Plucking the communicator from his chest, he brashly clicked it with his thumb.

"Vance he –" Kaleb stopped mid-sentence, and a sadistic smile spread across his face.

Alexander eyed him, puzzled.

"Memlillia to Vance, come in."

"Van...re…rea…ou…ome..n." Kaleb stuttered purposely. He made static-y sounds with his mouth and breathed deeply against the combadge, rolling it around in his cupped hands.

"Lieutenant?"

"…bassado…can't…ear yo…co..in..opy…"

Alexander's eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open in a half smile, half gape as though he didn't know whether to laugh or be appalled. Kaleb missed that expression. In the early days, when Alexander was still becoming accustomed to his many inappropriate outbursts, that had been a frequent look that brought much joy to Kaleb's heart. It only served as fuel.

Kaleb continued the charade for a few seconds longer, and then clicked the badge and cut off the signal. He erupted with laughter, thrashing about in hilarity. Alexander was slowly shaking his head, slightly awed. He looked as though he might reprimand him, but did not.

"Never do that to me."

Kaleb chuckled in reply and sat up; he calmed himself, wiping tears from his eyes. With only a glance, they silently decided it was time to get moving and Kaleb helped Alexander gather up the tools. The passage was broad enough that they could crawl side by side, their shoulders nearly scrapping.

"You were right," Kaleb said. "To not tell me. Or anyone else. About the Ambassador's relationship with DaKen. I understand. And you were right."

"Thank you."

They moved in silence. Several times, Kaleb almost broached the subject of Alexander's seemingly estranged twin and the mysterious Lieutenant A'læ – what a looker! – that he had some sort of history with, but stopped himself. If he knew Alexander – which he was sure he did – Kaleb knew he would bring it up when he was ready to talk about it, and not a moment sooner.

* * *

Susannah set down the instrument tray and rested against the biobed for a moment rubbing her eyes. She was so very tired. She had lost count of the number of patients she had treated, many more than once. The demand for her skills never stopped. The triage was brutal, patching up patients only to see them die while treating someone else. The miniscule facility was ill equipped, understaffed, and scarce on supplies.

Susannah nearly wept tears of joy a day and a half earlier when an elderly Vulcan male by the name of Terak had been rescued; he informed her he had over eighty years experience as a field medic and would be willingly offer her his services. Susannah enthusiastically accepted and set him loose. He was remarkably efficient and painstakingly precise. His calm, logical approach balanced her wracked nerves. Later, a civilian girl in her early twenties had come forward the same day and admitted she had attended two years of medical school on before dropping out. Susannah knew she was last person that could criticize someone for that and gratefully put her to work as a nurse, careful to observe and check her work.

Despite the extra help, the main area of the upper level was flooded with patients, and the walkway strewn with pallets. There had been several scares of an outbreak of a dangerous plague before the virus was quelled. With so many patients, she often became confused for a moment or two. Fatigue had led to several mistakes, twice they were irreparable. The guilt weighed on her. Nonetheless, her skills, tenacity, innovation, and stamina had impressed her. That was something to hold on to.

"Doctor?"

_Back to work…_

In the entryway, she found the remarkably striking Ambassador Memlillia waiting patiently, several padds clutched tightly. Susannah had taken to her – from a distance – almost instantly. Her poise and confidence were inspiring; she had performed admirably in the face of daunting situations. Even with the corporate meltdown the all shared in, Susannah empathized and thought highly of her. Also, the Ambassador and Alexander seemed close; regardless of their current sibling squabble, she always respected her brother's discernment; he was meticulous with the company he chose to keep.

There was one matter than niggled in the back of Susannah's mind. The brief encounter at _Deep Space Nine_. Did the Ambassador remember? She did not know. It made her apprehensive and a bit skittish. She could not imagine how it might look to the Ambassador.

Susannah sighed and then put on a smile.

"Ambassador," she said with genuine kindness, "Can I help you?"

"Yes, here are the checklists for the medical supplies for today's mission," the Ambassador replied, handing her the padds, "Can you go over them and make sure they are ready? If we do find anyone, they're bound to be injured or sick."

"I've already sent the medkits down, but I'll recheck them myself within the hour."

"Thank you," the Ambassador said. She touched her temple and winced slightly. It was such a small gesture, it was hardly noticeable. "It will be much appreciated."

"It's no problem…Ma'am? Are you alright?"

"Hmm? Oh yes, I'm fine. It's just a headache."

Susannah gestured that she have a seat on the biobed. The Ambassador complied after several moments. Susannah then retrieved her medical tricorder from its holster on her hip. With the smaller extension, she scanned over the Ambassador's temple and forehead. Examining the readings, she continued her scan around the periphery of her cranium, pausing at the base of her skull, and the slowly passing the device back along its path.

"Hmm."

"Hmm?"

"How intense would you describe the pain?" Susannah said closing, the device and regarding her curiously. With her fingers, Susannah firmly applied pressure at the Ambassadors temples, behind her ears, and at other pressure points.

"It's not that bad," the Ambassador insisted, cringing with each touch.

"I see." Susannah was inclined to believe otherwise. She also knew people had a variety of pain thresholds, but it seemed the Ambassador was suffering more than she let on.

"Is there…something wrong?"

"Do you have any other symptoms? Fatigue? Nausea? Sensitivity to light or sounds?"

"Well, yes, but we're all under a lot of pressure and stress. It's not that bad."

"Hmm," Susannah said, continuing her manual examination, "Anything else?"

"I…" the Ambassador began and then stopped. Susannah took a seat on the bed next to her and waited patiently. "I'm a Betazoid, you know. We're empathic. And telepathic."

"Yes, I'm aware. I'm also quite familiar with Betazoid physiology. Is there something wrong with your mental abilities."

"I don't know. Maybe." She admitted. "It's like a decreased sensitivity, or numbness. I can't sense what people are thinking as easily – or at all sometimes – or if they're lying. I can't read Alexander at all."

Susannah pondered the thought for a moment.

"Perhaps," she said slowly, "Perhaps it's psychological. You've been under extreme duress of late. Been through some traumatic experiences. Trust in certain people shaken."

The Ambassador nodded, deep in contemplation.

"May I ask a personal question, Doctor?" the Ambassador suddenly inquired.

Susannah nodded slowly, uncertain at the prospect.

"Why didn't Alexander ever mention you?"

"I…I honestly don't know, for sure. I have my theories. It may have something to do with some choices I made that he didn't agree with. He's a private person, and often compartmentalizes his life, especially concerning different seasons. His family knows little of his work and social life and vice versa. He never mentioned you or Lieutenant Vance to me. And the two of you seem to have been unaware of the others' existence. He makes strange decisions sometimes, but they only seem that way because we're not aware of the whole picture."

"He let you believe he was dead," she said flatly.

"I…I misspoke," Susannah admitted slowly, "We haven't been in touch in quite sometime. We heard rumors he was missing in action, and I never heard anything else."

"Missing in action? What?! When?"

"Whatever my issues with my brother, it's not my place," Susannah said scrupulously, "I don't know much more than that and I won't spread speculation. I'll wait for the truth from him. I'm embarrassed I let it slip. For now, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt because we're in the middle of a crisis."

"You are a better sister than he deserves," she replied, pleasant astonishment brightening her countenance.

"Maybe," Susannah laughed. "But I full well expect an explanation from him in due time. Count on that."

"I think," the Ambassador said, "my headache is…bad. Could you…give me painkiller?"

"Nope, sorry. No can do," Susannah replied simply

"Excuse me?" the Ambassador stammered, caught off guard.

"I don't treat symptoms. I have a very holistic approach to medicine. I treat causes and problems, not their effects. I've noticed an alarming reliance on and unnecessary use of medication and I won't pander to it." Susannah informed the Ambassador. It was a medical practice she held very strictly to and would not waver.

"I'm not sure I understand, Doctor."

"You're body isn't lacking analgesic," Susannah clarified, "It doesn't need Hydrocortilene. You need rest, and water, and a decent meal. You're dehydrated, and sleep deprived, and teetering on malnutrition. You want me to prescribe you something? It's that."

The Ambassador was baffled. It was a common response to a very unpopular diagnosis. Susannah knew she was well in her rights to proceed as such and she would continue to do so. Her medical practices foster healthy lifestyles, not stopgap measures.

"Alright then," the Ambassador said. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll be fine."

"Ambassador," Susannah continued more sternly, "As your attending medical physician, I'm telling you need to follow my advice."

"Thank you for your concern, Doctor. I will see to it once things have calmed down."

"No, ma'am. I don't think that will do."

"Excuse me."

"With all due respect, ma'am. I'm ordering you to get some rest. Immediately. I would hate to do so, but I can fail you on medical fitness to join the rescue mission if you don't comply."

The Ambassador sputtered. Susannah rose and went to the small replicator in the aft of the medical compartment and returned with a tall glass. She handed it to the Ambassador.

"Here, this will help your headache."

"What is it?" The Ambassador asked, accepting the cup tentatively.

"Water."

Susannah waited patiently until she emptied it. The Ambassador, stupefied, smiled politely and then excused herself. Once the door closed, Susannah flipped the tricorder open once more and fervently examined the readings. Her brow wrinkled with deep concern.

* * *

Alexander was on _Solara's_ lower deck in a caged area designated for weapons storage and other gear. He admittedly felt scores better after a far-too-short nap, shower, and a small lunch, and was ready to go. He stood with the Colonel next to a table piled with equipment. Silently they checked, and rechecked the compression rifles the teams would be carrying on the impending mission. Slung over the Colonel's brawny shoulder, were two weapons Alexander jealously coveted. They were of an unknown configuration and appeared to be custom made. No doubt, heavy artillery meant for one purpose: death and destruction.

Gratefully, the silence was not one of uncomfortable awkwardness. The two had not so much talked, or had a lengthy conversation, but rather, with the exchange of a few choice and precise words, come to an understanding and moved passed their differences and offenses. It was clear to Alexander, the Colonel was one to hold grudges; it was also clear, respect went a long way with the man. The now carried a mutual understanding of the other's position. Alexander, unlike Miria or Kaleb, understood the Colonel had done what was necessary. If one person could have prevented all of this, Alexander believed it was him. He also believed their survival and success also rode heavily on his cooperation.

During their brief exchange, days earlier, the Colonel had curtly expressed that should Alexander decide to assume complete control and depose the "incompetent, incapable, fraudulent Ambassador," that he would back him entirely. The statement caught Alexander completely off-guard; dumbfounded, but aware of the implications, he remained silent and replied with only a nod. It seemed to suffice.

Alexander had no intention of bucking rank or disposing of his highly valued friend and colleague. Mutiny was one thing he would not tolerate, but the significance that he had somehow won the Colonel's loyalty was not lost him. That was something he would not throw away. Rather than alienate the man with some sort of diminutive reprimand, he let the offer sit on the table with only the two of them sharing the knowledge of it. Nonetheless, the weight of it was heavy. It almost felt dishonest, but he knew he had done the right thing.

Slowly, the other crewmembers began to gather. Crewman Dûr, and Sergeant Treimer where among them. A'læ emerged from the lift and approached with a sturdy case. Without acknowledgment, she set it on the table, spun it around and opened it. Inside were a number of prototype scanning devices – tricorder upgrades. The runabout was stocked with a number of prototypes, a weakness of Alexander's, to compliment the more reliable equipment. At his request – sent via Miria – A'læ had tested and modified them to compensate for the effects of the asteroid field nebula.

"They can be wrist mounted on the trigger hand, for ease of use. The signal booster should solve any communication problems we were experiencing, as long as they're within a meter radius," A'læ informed him simply. She rubbed her arm nervously and looked away.

"Good work," he told her genuinely, his eyes warm. The vibrant green orbs locked with his for a moment, and then darted away. He was distracted as Kaleb, followed by Miria, entered with the last of the equipment.

"We're in position," Kaleb called over to him. Alexander saluted acknowledgement.

He and the Colonel checked through everything one last time. The Colonel, with Alexander's permission, had replicated a number of items he thought would be useful, mostly protective equipment and the like.

"Alright, people. Gear up," Alexander ordered, taking on a more commanding aura.

There was shuffling and cacophony as they went about their business. Alexander, ready, slipped on his protective lenses and sauntered over to Kaleb.

"Feels like we're going to war," Kaleb joked.

"Yeah. But I do agree with Colonel Skahticus that it's best to err on the side of caution," Alexander agreed. "Kaleb, I don't know what we're walking into."

Alexander glanced past Kaleb and saw Miria and Susannah suiting up. He deeply wished his sister was not going, but new they needed her. Miria, on the other hand, he had no idea why she was going. He marched over, with Kaleb in tow, and crossed his arms.

"I thought you were going to coordinate from here," Alexander stated.

"I changed my mind. Ensign Baxter can handle it; her leg hasn't healed completely and she would be a liability on the mission."

"What if DaKen is still over there," Alexander whispered through gritted teeth, gripping Miria's forearm.

"Then he's in big trouble," she retorted, pulling out of his grasp.

"Miria."

"I'm going. I outrank you. I'm going."

"Fine. You're on the Colonel's team."

"No."

"Stay or go," he smiled, spitefully, "it's your choice."

"I'll go on the Colonel's team," Susannah interrupted, "You can go with Lieutenant Vance, Ambassador."

Alexander eyed her skeptically. He had yet to discern what her connection was to the Colonel. Miria seemed dubious of that option as well, and was not very fond of Kaleb.

"Why can't I go on your team?"

"No way. That would totally inappropriate," Kaleb cut in, "for either of you to be on his team. He would be more concerned for your well being because he doubts your abilities. Where as I expect officers of your ranks to be capable." He looked directly at Miria. "And, I don't care if _you _die."

"Kaleb!" "Lieutenant!" "Oh my goodness!" came the unanimous reaction.

"You done chit-chatting?" The Colonel called out.

Alexander shook his head at the three and then nodded once, agreeing to the conditions. He then stepped into the center of the gathering.

"Everyone ready?"

"Yes, sir," or "Aye, Commander," was the general reply.

"Alright, then," Alexander began. He projected his voice strong and clear, speaking deliberately and calmly. "here's how it's gonna go. We'll split into four teams led by Colonel Skahticus, Lieutenant Vance, Lieutenant A'læ, and me. Our primary goal is search and rescue, then reconnaissance. We have designated the _Companion_ into four sections that we will scour as quickly as possible. This is only a first round. We need to get in and out as quickly as possible because we don't want to get caught by a scouting patrol.

"We have only one doctor, and no way of moving her around quickly. So, you'll have to treat whatever injuries you come across the best you can until she can reach you or you can move the survivor to safety.

"If you'll check your new personal scanning devices, or PSDs, you'll see areas have been color coded. Green for safe zones, yellow for caution, orange for high risk, red extreme risk, and black for off limits. The purple is for unknown and should be regarded the same as red. There is also a radiation proximity alert. The blue icons are designated beam-out sites. The PSDs are linked with _Solara_ and will be constantly uploading your scans to her main computer; every fifteen minutes, you will receive an update through your data link.

"It is imperative you remain aware of the updates, as our assessments are only preliminary and mostly theoretical at this time. We won't know what we're walking into until we're right on top of it. There are several hull breaches where the noxious gases of this cloud have infiltrated the ship and through these breaches we've detected several radiation leaks. So, we do know it's hazardous.

"Thanks to Lieutenants Vance and A'læ, we've discovered a micro-hull-breach near the shuttlebay that will allow us to penetrate the interference and beam into four safe zones. Except for the beam in location, transporters won't work. For now, that's your only blue icon, but we'll be setting up transport enhancers along the way; watch for those changes as well.

"No one goes alone outside of a yellow area, and keep an open comlink whenever you are separated. And please keep an eye out for each other. Let's not lose anyone else. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," was again the general response.

"Any questions?"

There were none.

"Okay, good luck. Let's move out."

They broke and the teams herded their way to the upper level and the transporter arch. It was crowded around the walkway as Alexander made his way to the front. Ensign Baxter already stood at the controls with her ever dour look.

Alexander and his team then huddled beneath the transporter arch. Glancing about, he made certain all was ready. Satisfied, he then nodded to Baxter and said, "Energize."

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the wonderful constructive comments. AND thank you DAMIAR!

I promise there will be more action next chapter. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Peace,

Jgold7

PS See the link on my profile page to check out the cover art for this fic.


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